You Have Got To Be Kidding Me
by thunder skies
Summary: ."And do you know what, right then, I really, really, start to hate about myself? I have a thing for eye contact." Leah/Nahuel.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **It's all SMeyer's-- I just play with the characters.

**Author's Notes: **I couldn't stop with just a oneshot for this pairing. I'm not sure how long it will be; one more chapter at the very, very least. Oh, and one **important fact: **this takes place two days after the "battle" with the Volturi in Breaking Dawn.

Enjoy, and I'd love to hear what you think!

* * *

_Jacob, this is so fucking stupid. _

_Why thank you, little Miss Sunshine. _

Even though we're on opposite sides of the forest, I know he can hear my annoyed howl echo through the trees. _I'm serious. I just want to go home. You remember home, don't you? _

_Shuddup. I'm not a hobo._

_Yet._

Jesus. Does he have to have such an even temper nowadays? There's no point arguing with him if we won't get into a fight about it.

_Did you ever think that maybe that was the plan, Beta-dearest?_

_Please never call me that again._

_You're just pissed 'cause I'm the Alpha and I can order you around if I want. Aha..._

_You wouldn't,_ I think mildly, because I know I'm right. Doing whatever the lupine equivalent of rolling my eyes was, I hop over a particularly wide root, my paw lodging on a thorn as I land. _Ow, shit, ow... _

Jacob's thoughts back at me are smug._ I'm sorry, what? Was that the sound of karma biting you in the ass? _

I don't bother answering with anything other than a string of obscenities. Why does he deserve anything better? He's the one making me go to the damn leeches house. Again. What a bastard.

_Y'know, I'm not making you do anything,_ Jacob points out. _Don't pin this on me. _

_Yeah, well...  
_  
Okay, it's not like he's not still a total bastard and everything, but... if he wants me to go to the freakin' crypt, I'll go to the freakin' crypt. Ugh. But it's still his damn fault for being so nice to me. If he hadn't been, I could have said 'no' and gone back to a place were I'm forced to sleep on a bed of grass. I hear Jacob's rough bark more clearly as we circle back towards the same spot, his wolf-laugh.

_So it's basically just because I'm an awesome and debonair sort of guy that you listen to me, right?_

_Yeah, that and your charming humility._

I draw closer and closer to the clearing at the edge of the forest, our agreed upon spot to phase back and walk up the Casa de Crypt. It's illuminated in the moonlight, almost creepy looking, and I phase as quickly as I can manage, almost falling on my ass. Graceful. And because I'm that kind of lucky, Jacob bounds up just as I'm trying to brush all the pine needles off my tank top, still shirtless. No, not awkward at all. But Jake, since he's actually sort of gentleman-y (he has his moments), turns around to phase back and stays that way until I stop muttering child-inappropriate words underneath my breath.

"Don't say that stuff around Nessie," he tells me, hurrying up to my side when I start to stalk through the overgrown weeds that will lead us to the house.

"Emmett does." Very poor argument, but the best I can do with a tree branch in my face. Stupid wolf tallness.

"Nobody listens to Emmett," Jacob argues, pulling the annoying as hell branch off me. I don't punch him as thanks. "He's like a voice in the wind..." He whistles to enunciate this. I roll my eyes.

"One day your eyes are gonna get stuck like that," Jake announces, bursting through the final collection of trees and helping me through, so that the edge of the Crypt is visible. "And you're going to come to me and be all, 'Jake, my eyes are stuck like this!" And I'll be like, 'Yeah. Shouldn't have been such a smart ass. Sucks to be you.' And I'll slam the door in your face."

I stare at the back of his head, then jog to catch up with him. "Thank you for that interesting monologue, Oh Mighty Alpha, but one: I would never come to you for help. Two: that's bullshit, no one's eyes have ever gotten stuck that way, and three: even if that did happen in some insane way probably caused by more freakish magical creatures, you wouldn't slam the door at me. You're too annoyingly nice for that."

Jacob considers this for a moment. "Yeah, definitely. I gotta quit with this 'nice' jag. I'm sure it's getting old." I laugh, nodding my agreement.

Then the smell hits.

Jacob is already a few feet in front of where I've frozen, but he turns around when he notices I'm no longer shadowing him. His face goes exasperated and he grabs my forearm, dragging me along, up the steps to the front door. "Don't be a drama queen. You'll get used to it. And try not to be outright rude, please?"

"But subtle rudeness is okay, right?"

He inclines his head, eyes twinkling. "Of course."

Jacob doesn't even bother knocking anymore, which I start to tell him off for... but then remember that they're _leeches_. I shudder, half-hiding behind him. Because this so isn't uncomfortable.

"God, how many are still here?" I ask, horror-stricken. I'm proud to say that I just master the urge to pinch my nose against the overwhelming stench of sweetness. Christ, it's like wandering into a Bath and Body Work's store. Ew. Jacob's face looks a little strained too, but the annoying bastard straightens it out when he sees me watching.

"Not many, actually, so cut the drama," he mutters, leading me from room to disgusting room, towards the one where they're all congregated. "The Amazons are still here, I think they're over playing with Nessie, and so're the Irish ones-- and trust me, I only know that 'cause Seth's been hitting on the redhead since after the battle..."

"Awesome. Just what I need, my little brother trying to get some from a bloodsucker. Uh-huh, perfect."

Jacob rolls his eyes ("Ha!" I yelled, "they'll get stuck that way, loser!"), and grabs my arm again. What is it with him and dragging me places today? It's not like I'm going to turn tail and run.

...Tempting as that may be.

Finally, at the end of the hallway, Jacob pushes open a door that absolutely reeks of vampire. Nostrils burning, I attempt to treat it like the ocean: take a deep breath and dive in.

Except this is one effed up ocean full of abnormally pretty people.

"Look, food!" Jacob says loudly, eyes lighting up as he spots a long table in the corner that appears to be set up fully for us shapeshifter's benefit. Boy has a one-track mind.

But food does sound hella good right now.

We walk over, me glancing around like a caged animal. There have to be at least ten bloodsuckers still milling around-- most clumped together around the piano that takes up a large portion of the room, where Mind-Rapist Leech is sitting on the bench, devil spawn in his lap, Mrs. Love-Shield beside them. How lovely, it's like they're eternally posing for a family portrait. Gross.

I think I must have muttered that part out loud, because Jacob elbows me in the side. "Ooow," I whine, even though it really doesn't hurt at all. Whatever.

"Don't say 'gross'," he instructs, eyes on the Spawn. I sigh, closing my eyes and leaning against the table while he piled chips on a paper plate. Ladies and gentlemen, you have just witnessed the last bit of attention I'll be getting from him as long as that kid's around. Don't we all just love being one-upped by a six-month old?

"Give me some," I grumble, able to snag a few of his chips before he waves his hand at me.

"I'm gonna go see Nessie."

"Shocker," I murmured, but he didn't appear to notice, apparently having gone spontaneously deaf. "Yo, when can I leave?" I call to his back, ignoring the low murmurings of leech-voices around me. They all talk too damn quiet.

Jacob actually manages to turn around for half a second. "Nine. Be good." And he's gone.

"Don't tell me to be good, I'm not a dog!" I yell half-heartedly, the chips becoming crumbs as I clench my hand together. Christ. Time for me to wander around for an hour feeling incredibly awkward. I never get how Jacob can come over here without the profound urge to, I don't know, _take a damn shower_. Repositioning myself against the wall, I tug out my ponytail only to have a smattering of tiny bits of leaves fall into my palm. I stare at them for a moment, uncomprehending, before letting them drop to the floor. Shit. I always forget to shake out my fur before I phase back; finally trying to grow my hair out again is a pain in the ass.

Right. I'll just stay here all night. Trying to look menacing or something.

I manage this for about ten minutes.

"Leah!" a half-familiar voice cries, just when I pop open a bottle of water that sits, dripping condensation, on the table's edge. When I bother to look up, wiping my mouth with the edge of my wrist, the smell wraps around me again; leech. The little one, who sees the future.

Freak.

"Yeah," I grunt. She stands in front of me, at least a foot shorter than I am. Tiny freak. Her smile, when it spreads across her face, looks wide enough to split it.

"Esme and Carlisle want to talk with you. And so do I. You look lonely."

_Excuse_ me? Lonely? A shudder of heat ripples down my spine, and when I glance at the bottle I hold in my hand I can see how it's warped from how hard I've gripped it. "I'm not lonely," I say tightly.

Her smiled doesn't waver. "But would you still come and talk with us? Everyone's busy fussing over Nessie," she giggles. Ugh. If Spawn wasn't so freaking annoying, I'd feel bad for the kid. Must suck to never be left alone. "And now Siobhan and Kachiri are talking to Emmett." Dude, where do the bloodsuckers _get_ their names? Honestly. "Could you join us? Please?"

Oh, crap. No way am I joining their parasitic Circle o' Fun. "Um, no, I'm good," I tell her, starting to edge away. "Really..."

Now her smile flickers, like white Christmas lights that start looking duller after Christmas is gone. "Are you sure? I mean, Esme's very nice..."

"That's okay, seriously. Uh..." Subtle, Leah, smooth and subtle. I should look into a career as a spy. "Actually, yeah, I'm gonna go find Seth. He promised to bring me something." Lie, lie, lie. For all I know Seth's busy putting the moves on that redheaded leech.

"Oh, all right... but, you really should, later, you know..." Her stupid, pretty, awful pale face turns hopeful when she glances back at me. I nod vigorously, taking one giant step away.

"Sure, right, yeah. See ya."

Before she can try to answer I hurry away, pressing into the crowd of bloodsuckers around the piano, trying to get to the center. I have the feeling I'm going in circles here. Crap, crap, crap. Where the hell is Jacob? Fuck him and his Alpha powers, I'm out of here. A tall, olive-skinned woman with glowing red eyes blocks my path to the center of the circle, where Jacob is surely sitting on the floor, Spawn in his arms. Disgusting. She glares at me as I try to push through. Screw this.

My lungs are beginning to burn. I decide, belatedly, that I don't need to tell Jacob anything-- what do I owe him? I shove my way back out of the group, but there are still a few rogue leeches, some red-eyed and some golden-eyed, milling around, talking and laughing. Great, even the vampires have a better social life than I did.

I guess I really should have kept my eyes on something other than the floor. Because the second I get to the doorway Jake had led me through earlier-- _wham._ Collision.

And I really, really guess that what led me to apologize in the first place was the fact that, well, whoever I ran into didn't _smell. _And if I had been considering things rationally (which, honestly, when do I ever?) I would have noticed that the person also didn't smell like one of my pack mates. But, like I said, I don't _do_ rational thinking. So it made sense that instead of a leech related insult, the first words out of my mouth are, "Oh, shit, I'm sorry. Are you okay?"

And do you know what, right then, I really, really, start to hate about myself?

I have a thing for eye contact.

So, when whoever the hell I just rammed into says, "Don't be, it's my fault. I apologize," I look up. Because suddenly, I can't place the accent, and suddenly, I can't remember who the hell isn't in my pack and is that much taller than me.

So I look up. And I say, "Oh."

"Oh," I say, when I can finally focus on something other than his face.

"Oh," I say, when the world finishes realigning itself.

"Oh," I say, when everything else I can see looks a little less beautiful than the man in front of me.

"Oh," I say, and the words come out dazed. "You have got to be kidding me."


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Notes: **I just wanted to thank everyone who reviewed the first chapter, and favorited or put it on their alert list! I hope you all are having a happy holiday.

Just for clarification: I'm going to go back in a few hours, when I'm, y'know, properly awake, and fix Chapter 1 so that it's written in the present tense, which is the way this chapter's written-- both because I find it easier to write that way, and because I feel like it fits the story better.

Enjoy Chapter Two!

* * *

The first thing I do, ironically, is find Jacob. Ironic only because a few seconds before I believe my exact thought process was, "Screw him!"

But then... things happened. The _wham _and the "I'm sorry" and the realizing and the looking and the seeing and the part where I just fucking _imprinted. _

I think, in all honesty, it's a little too much for my poor addled brain to handle at the moment. Because I fucking _know _that man. See, I can't even be all normal and call him a _dude _since, well, he's _not. _If my just as poorly addled memory serves me correctly, he's a hundred-freaking-fifty years old and he's not even from this damn _country. _

All of this is circling on a loop in my mind when I shove my way back into the crowd around the piano, this time with much more desperation that my last attempt. And I really, really think it's a sign of how much this is freaking me out that my next thought is, _Christ, you know it'd be just my luck these little freaks stop aging when they're seventeen and he's not even effing legal._

Yes, that would definitely be the diseased cherry on top of my ice cream of suck.

One dark-haired leech actually _hisses_ at me as I try to push past her, and then mutters under her breath (which, to quote Seth, smells _lame_) about rude werewolves. I want to grab her by the shoulders and say, "Look, lady, I don't now what your deal is, but I just found my _soul mate _and he's kind of a weirdling like the little Spawn you're over here worshipping and I _really _need to talk to my damn Alpha!"

Except I don't have time to say this. I only have time to roll my eyes and say, "God, get a grip, bloodsucker," and continue forcing my way to the center.

Good to know that imprinting hasn't deprived me of a personality.

I feel a little dramatic actually bursting _into the center, _where, sure enough, Jake is sitting with the Spawn in his lap, leaning up against the piano bench. Luckily, the drama is negated by my stumbling into the actual piano and then, with a flurry of cursing, banging my foot on the leg of the thing.

"Leah--" Bella begins, but I'm too busy smacking Jacob repeatedly on the arm to pay attention to her lecture on not swearing front of her tiny little impressionable daughter. Whatever, kid lives with Emmett, I'm sure she's heard it all before. I slide down so that I'm rocking on the balls of my feet, knees pressing into Jacob's leg, the Spawn staring at me like I'm bat-shit insane. Which, um, at the moment? Pretty much sums me up.

"_Jake,_" I hiss, my nails digging into his shoulder. "I need you to come with me _now._" No way in _hell _was I doing in the middle of a group of leeches. The circle around us shifts, the vampires murmuring things I can't quite make out.

Jacob looks thoughtlessly sad at the prospect of leaving the Spawn. "C'mon, Leah, can't it wait? Nessie was just--"

"Jacob," someone interrupts, and I glance up long enough to see that it's Edward. Mind-Rapist leech. Who is staring at me with the oddest expression on his weirdly-young face. He clears his throat, a nice human affection, and says quietly, "I think you'd better go with her." Then he leans over to pick up his daughter from Jake's lap.

I think it's the fact that _Edward _told him he should go with me, considering he's a freakish mind reader and all and supposedly would know that I'm not just trying to mess up his "Nessie Time." Which, obviously, I'm _not. _And so because I know a favor when I see it I nod at him-- at Edward, and grab Jacob's arm to drag him up. He furrows his brow but follows me anyway, back into the crowd, all of them instinctively shuffling back as he passes. Of course. Only Jake could part the vampires like he's freaking Moses at the Red Sea.

That's when Edward says it.

I have _no clue _what makes him do it, but he does. Maybe he didn't think Jake would hear. Maybe he was telling the Spawn why her future-lover was leaving with the annoying she-wolf. Because suddenly both of us, knee-deep in the leech crowd, hear Edward mutter: "That was _strange_. I've never seen imprinting in someone's mind _as _it happens."

It's surprising Jacob doesn't get whiplash, the way he snaps his head around to stare at me. Not bothering to explain (because _really, _after _that, _there's not much left _to_ explain), I keep walking, only pausing to reach over and shove his jaw back up. We're going outside and I don't feel like giving him the Heimlich if he chokes on a fly. He grabs onto my arm for, what, the third time tonight? I don't turn back to look at him, just let him pretend to be blind, deaf, and dumb as I lead both of us outside the ring of vampires. Our shoves through them seem to have made an impact because they all start milling about again, loosely, as interchangeable as pennies. I couldn't pick a specific one out if I had to.

By the time we reach the door I can breathe more easily, the stench no longer burning my lungs. I take a deep, thankful breath.

Then I remember, _oh shit, the door. _

And the certain events that occurred by the door.

I can't help it, I really can't-- I glance around, trying to find him. Trying to see what happened to him after I ran off to talk to my esteemed Alpha who right now probably couldn't form a complete sentence if he wanted to. Jacob is watching me, slack-jawed again, still holding onto my arm as I bite my lip and turn around, leaning against the door and searching the room with more than a little desperation.

_There _he is.

It's sort of completely ridiculous, but I when I see him I can feel everything in me slow down. That's the best I can do to describe it-- the almost-imperceptible feeling of relaxing. And I really cannot remember the last time I was relaxed. He's to my right, shoulder pressed to the wall as he talks quietly with an olive-skinned woman who, I realize, is the same one that hissed at me when I tried to get through to Jacob. She has to be his aunt.

Awesome. At least I've already won over his family.

I can feel Jacob tugging at my arm, saying something to me, but I can't pay attention. Because, just then, he looks up-- and I'm totally staring at him. I have a seventh-grade flashback as I glance away, my hand reaching out to find the knob on the door, ready to leave.

But I can't. There's a pricking on my skin, one that makes goosebumps scatter across my shoulder. I know this feeling.

It's like I'm being watched.

Jacob called the things that connected him to Renesmee "steel cables," the ones hold up bridges and support things that would crumble away to nothingness without them. I wonder if that means imprinting really is different for everybody, like the way they say that no two snowflakes are ever the same, because I don't feel any steel cables. Instead, when I look up at him this time, there's a tiny twanging in my chest-- a rubber band stretched tight, vibrating with a connection.

When I make eye contact with him again, he's smiling. And, because of that, I smile too. I can't do anything about it. I can't hide it with my hand, one tugged by Jacob and one on the door. I can't force it back down, because it feels too nice. I can't do anything but keep smiling, the edges of my cheeks aching because I can't remember the last time I did.

Then there's a sharp pain in my arm. Jacob is opening the door, one handed, shoving my hand away. And before I can pretend I was looking somewhere else, he follows the line of my vision to see who I'm smiling at.

"Oh, Christ," he says, pulling me into the hallway, the bands in my chest snapping with the loss. "You have got to be kidding me."


	3. Chapter 3

We manage to make it outside before I start hyperventilating.

Barely.

I don't think Jacob really knows what he's supposed to do, because he only stands there and looks awkward before patting me on the back and therefore becoming even more awkward. Meanwhile, I'm busy wondering what the possibility is of me puking into the rosebush outside Casa de Crypt that I am currently staring at.

Suffice to say, it's very, very high.

"Um," Jacob says, I think remembering that he's technically the Alpha and supposed to know what to do when his Beta imprints on a half-breed. Except in reality he totally _doesn't, _but if there's one thing Jacob Black is good at it's fudging it when he's not really sure. "So." He scuffles the heel of his bare foot in the dirt. "You... imprinted."

"No shit. Tell me something I don't know."

"Well, I was scared of the dark until I was, like, nine..."

This makes me pause, peering up from my wonderful view of the rosebush. "Seriously?"

"No. I just wanted to take your mind off it."

I blink at him. The nighttime shadows make his face look demented, and that's when I notice he's standing in a weird position-- kind of crouched down a few inches, balanced on the balls of his feet. Like he's going to phase soon.

Like he's sure _I'm _going to phase soon.

A burst of laughter catches in my throat. This is all so _ridiculous._ "What, you think I'm _pissed?_"

One of Jacob's eyebrows rises, a freakish talent of his that I've never been able to imitate. "Um... no?" Nice try, but this isn't Jeopardy. No phrasing it in the form of a question. The thought, because of it's sheer idiocy, makes me laugh again, albeit a little hysterically. I think Jake actually backs up a few inches.

"Leah, are you, like, disassociating or something? 'Cause I saw this show on TV one time about this chick who disassociated and went on a killing spree. You won't do that, right?"

Okay, _what? _Any amusement I had dies right then when I glare at him, my hands falling to my hips. Now I _know _he backs up a few inches.

Good.

"Yes, Jake! God, you caught me! I was _really_ planning to go on a killing spree and murder fifty or so people because I _just fucking imprinted. _How could I have missed your brilliant logic? It all makes sense now! Thank you for revealing the inner workings of my psyche to me!" I fling my arms into the air for emphasis; a bird _caws_ loudly and takes off from a tree above my head, scatting leaves over my hair. Of course. Jake relaxes his posture then, apparently no longer worried that I'll take off.

But _why _would I? _Why? _I honestly can't understand, and I hate that feeling. _Why _would I leave him here, in the leech's house? Then Jacob grins, takes a step towards me, and reaches out to tug my arms back down to my side.

"Wow," he says, with more than a little awe in his voice. "You're still Leah."

"No, I'm fucking Little Miss Muffett. Who the hell do you think I am?"

That makes him laugh; I roll my eyes and cross my arms over my chest. He is such an idiot sometimes.

"No, I just mean," Jacob tells me, taking a hold of my hand and pulling my gently back across the leech's yard, "that you didn't, like... get all stupid and giggly or whatever." This time the laugh I let out is short, surprised.

"Yeah, you'd have permission to kill me if that happened," I say casually, swinging our arms up so that I can pretend to touch the stars. I used to do that all the time when I was younger; I have no clue why I stopped.

Ah. Well, actually, yeah, sort of a clue... one that starts with _S _and ends with _am. _

But before I can think about _that_ little touch of weirdness any more, Jacob pinches my finger softly between two of his own to catch my attention. The lights from the porch of the Crypt make the grass we're walking on a strange greenish-gold color, and I stare at my toes for a second. Then Jake says: "This is so freaky."

"What's freaky?"

One of his eyebrows rises again-- I can't help myself from trying to imitate it. Jacob snorts. "You look like a clown on crack. Don't do that."

"Shuddup, hobo."

"I have a home!"

"Then why aren't you ever at it?"

Instead of answering, he just grumbles "shut up" one more time. I twist one foot over the other to kick him in the shin and announce, "Ouch, Jake. That remark has pierced my soul."

"You mean your nonexistent one?" he asks, being obnoxious; I smack him upside the head. We're quiet for a few seconds.

"So," I remind him, swinging our arms up again, accidentally-on-purpose attempting to dislocate his shoulder. "What's freaky?"

Jacob stares at me. I can see the lines of his face better now that we're in the light, and the scruffy ends of his hair. He seriously needs to cut it. And no, I'm not just saying that because it's pretty demeaning to know a guy with hair almost as long as mine. "Leah," he says slowly, his head tilting towards me. "You just _imprinted._"

Like there's a master puppeteer above us, the edges of my mouth slip up without my meaning to let them. _Imprinting. _I realize that I love the word; the way my lips round out the syllables, how it feels on my tongue. Why haven't I realized how nice a word it is before?

_Oh, yeah, _I think belatedly. _Because this time when I say it, nothing hurts. _

I take a breath. "I did," I tell Jacob, even though he's already said it himself. Because now, the words are all mine. "I imprinted," I say, and every string in my chest hums.

Jake smiles at me-- it makes his face look younger. Then, with a start, I realize that his face doesn't look younger; this is the way it's _supposed _to look. Weird. Still smiling, he gives my hand a sharp tug, and it almost makes me stumble. Such an ass.

"Hey, Leah?" he says, pausing. I lock our eyes together, inclining my head. "You have to go talk to him now."

Now, like most people, I have a filter in my brain that keeps my from thinking about most shit too hard. And a lot of the things that Jacob says end up falling into the "shit" category instantly, just by virtue of him being _Jacob. _So when I start nodding for a few seconds, that's when I glance up and around. Just for something to do. And I realize we haven't been walking around _randomly_ or anything-- he's led me to the edge of the porch and has one foot on the first step.

My filter pretty much explodes.

"_What?!"_

"Leah--" Jacob tries for a cajoling kind of voice. "C'mon, I mean, he's probably sure somethings going on, you have to tell him. Let's go."

"But-- but," I try desperately, attempting to jerk my hand away from his, but he's irritatingly stronger than me and holds fast. "But _Jake!"_

"Yes, that's my name," he says, looking as though he's seriously contemplating throwing me over his shoulder. Ooh, he would end up with a fork in his eye. Jacob glances at the door, then back at me: "Don't you _want _to talk to him?"

I stop fighting for a moment. Yes. Yesyesyes. Talking, good plan. I want to _see _him again. That would be incredible.

Almost imperceptibly, I nod at the ground. And I guess Jacob notices, because he starts talking again.

"Leah Clearwater... you are _so _scared," he grins. I can almost hear Embry in my mind crowing, _Oh no he didn't!_

"I am _not!_" What a _fucking _bastard.

Jacob ducks the punch I throw at him with my free hand. "Then why don't you want to do this?" he asks. His voice has gone quiet, softer, and it makes me want to slap him. Hard.

I grind my teeth together, making sure Jacob notices. "Because... because... I don't _know!" _I yell. Apparently along with my filter exploding, so has my sanity. "I just-- I'm fucking King Midas except everything I touch turns to _shit! _Why do I bother, Jake?! Can't I just, I don't know, be his guard dog or something and leave him alone forever?! That way his life won't _suck _just because I'm _in _it!"

I'm breathing hard by the time I finish. And, you know, it's not that I mind _saying _this sort of stuff so much-- it's just that I hate who I'm saying it _to. _Because Jacob... well, Jacob _cares._

And that can get very, very annoying.

So in a way, I'm sort of expecting it when he raises his chin up a notch, staring me straight in the eyes. And I'm also expecting it when he says, "Leah, you're _scared,_" but this time enthusing a mocking undertone in his voice that makes me growl. And so I slip my hand out of his and walk up the steps to the front door myself, wondering absently if there's an operation I could have to remove my dignity.

Because that shit really gets me in a lot of trouble.


	4. Chapter 4

_Author's Note: _Hey everyone! I just wanted to give you all a heads up that I'm currently attempting to find a beta reader who is fluent in Spanish-- considering that both Nahuel and his aunt speak it, naturally the language will appear quite often during the story. There are a few Spanish lines in this chapter, and I tried to do the best I could with online translators (which, as we all know, generally aren't very good :P). If you find any mistakes, please feel free to point them out and I'll get them fixed as soon as possible. Enjoy chapter four!

* * *

You know, I never realized just how fascinating watching a still life painting of a boat on the sea could be.

Oh, wait, that's because I've never done it for _six minutes straight._

At least the leech's have comfortable carpet, I guess, considering that I'm lying on the floor. And when I say 'lying,' I mean actually _lying_ flat on my back in the middle of their living room.

Ha. Living room. Vampires don't live.

Christ. That was so lame I groan out loud, pressing the heels of my hands into my eyes. Tiny white spots bubble up in my vision, making everything blurry when I go back to staring at the stupid boat. Did I mention I'm staring at it upside down? Yep, upside down pictures of boats. Don't I just love staring at upside down pictures of boats in the leech's living room while I wait for Jacob to bring my imprint on over so I can announce that I have now become eternally bound to him through some sort of wolfy-type magic that I can't bring myself to remember why I hated?

I so need to have my own TV show.

...Six minutes and forty five seconds.

I think they should call Jacob to help think up a name for the show. He's good at stuff like that. Just look at the stupid stuffed wolf he bought the Spawn that he named Rolf, the Wolf of Awesome.

Yeah, I don't even know.

...Seven minutes and twenty-three seconds.

And my show should come on after Oprah. Everybody likes Oprah.

...Seven minutes and thirty-nine seconds.

Plus they could get some really hot actress to play me so everyone can pretend that I run around looking sexy all day.

...Eight minutes.

_Bam._

Did I ever mention that Jacob has really incredibly fucking awesome timing?

As soon as the seconds hand on my watch ticks so that it lines up perfectly with the twelve, the door to the leech's living room bangs open with such an amount of force that I'm pretty shocked it doesn't fly right off the hinges. Not that slamming a door into the wall would win Jake any points with his parasitic family. The mom one probably wouldn't feed him for a month.

The only thing I can see from this upside down vantage point is the disgustingly tasteful cushions on the white couch (how it manages to stay that way with Jacob and Seth here all the time, I'll never know), but there is really no way to scramble up from one's back in the middle of very soft carpet and still retain any semblance of grace. Trust me. Even if one is scrambling to see one's imprint.

I do spare a moment to tug down my shirt so it's actually covering my stomach-- definitely a good move --before I look up. Irritatingly, Jacob's face is directly in my line of vision, hiding whoever came in behind him. The glare I shoot him must be particularly homicidal even for me, because he grins in an annoying smug way and takes one giant, Mother-May-I step to the right. I try to find the words to curse at him, but they get lost in the whirlpool motion as of all the air is sucked out of the room.

I don't think I've ever had reason to describe a man as _beautiful, _but that's the only adjective that comes to mind here. Maybe it has something to do with his skin-- not Quileute looking, not in the least, but only a few shades lighter, and with a strange golden glow that makes it look like he's lit from the inside out. His hair, I notice, is still in braids. And I also manage to notice that, much like the werewolves, he isn't wearing a shirt.

Way to pop up at an inconvenient time, hormones. Way. To. Go.

Jacob chooses that moment to clear his throat, incredibly obnoxiously and rudely if I may say so. I force my head to turn in his direction. "What the hell was that?"

"That was me coughing," he says innocently, in a tone that deeply implies, 'I totally saw you staring, don't deny it.' What an asshole.

I snort. "Well, don't. You sound like a dying cat."

"Hey," Jacob says abruptly, glancing over my head. "That was rude, right, Nahuel? Seriously. She does this all the time. It hurts me so much. It's like a knife. In my sensitive heart."

"What heart?" I ask on cue. It's an ingrained reaction by now, thankfully, because I'm way to busy having his name repeat on a loop through my brain. _Nahuel, Nahuel, Nahuel. _

When he laughs a few moments later, it's quiet, so that I have to strain my ears to make out the sound. "Your banter is very amusing," he tells us, and I can't help but notice that even though he's technically answering Jacob, he's staring at _me. _Helloooo, ego boost. If I were I guy, I'm sure my chest would be puffed out right now. I resist the urge to clap my hands together. Okay. Imprint-talk time. I can totally do this shit.

Except there's another cough just as I open my mouth. Fuck you, Jake. Don't ruin the damn moment. My hands slip down to the edges of my hips again as I twist myself to hiss some very choice words at Alpha dearest over there, but he isn't even looking at me. Ugh. The things I put up with around here.

Then... then I notice he's not just _not _looking at me. He's looking at _somebody. _

_Somebody _who is standing stiffly upright in the doorway. _Somebody _who seems to be very, very angry. _Somebody _with very, very red eyes.

_Oh, crap, _is all I get out in my mind before Nahuel turns around to face the woman, murmuring his words just as softly as he had laughed: "Aunt Huilen, now is not the time."

So _authoritative. _Take that, human-eater.

What was that sound? Oh, right, that was the sound of my maturity flying out the window.

She takes a step forward, a tiny, calculated step that makes it perfectly clear she's sure we're going to attack her any moment now. No, I'll be good. No attacking my imprint's aunt. That would not be good for bonding. But, for the record, I _am _having a difficult time looking anywhere but at her eyes. Eye contact is good, _very _good, but... once it goes on for a full minute, it gets sort of weird.

"Um... Leah?" Jacob sounds nervous; no reason to be, except he's interrupting me and Huilen's staring contest from hell. Even though it pains me, I tear my eyes away first.

"Yes?"

His eyes dart around the room, and he shuffles his feet against the floor. "Can I... talk to you?"

I roll my eyes. "You're kind of doing it right now. Talking. You know, that thing where your lips move and sound comes out?"

Still standing just behind Nahuel, his aunt makes a tiny noise in the back of her throat. "_Ridículo,_" she hisses softly, folding her arms tight across her chest. Definitely don't need a Spanish-English dictionary to figure _that_ one out. Nahuel frowns, and it makes me cringe.

Okay, maybe I am _ridículo_.

Apparently having had enough of this, Jacob catches me eyes and tilts his head towards the opposite corner of the room. Ooh, secret wolf meeting. Awesome. Maybe we can perfect our secret handshake while we're over there.

And yes, we do have a secret handshake. No, I don't know why. Jake thought it would be cool. Can't you tell why he's the Alpha?

Shoving my hands into the pockets of my cut-offs (which used to be Seth's before I stole them from the dryer-- not like the kid noticed), I follow him over to the corner. Right on cue, Huilen steps fully into the room, standing on the tips of her toes to whisper furiously into Nahuel's ear. All I can catch is a few strains of Spanish, which, wow, really helps me to understand. Unfortunately, I was forced to skip most of Spanish class in high school because of that thing were I started bursting into a fur ball on a regular basis. How freaking ironic.

Jacob is rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. What a stupid habit. "Can you do me a favor and _not _possibly cause his aunt's wrath?" he asks, rolling his eyes.

"I'm sorry, what? I couldn't hear you because I was too busy watching your eyes get stuck that way," I shoot back. I slide my hands up, to play with the belt loops on the shorts and tug them higher up on my hips. I picked a seriously inconvenient day to wear these, considering they're about two sizes to big for me. Stupid Seth and his stupid growth spurt.

"Don't change the subject, freak." He flicks my temple with two of his fingers, which I then attempt to bite off. No such luck. "Were you actually going to mention the part where you imprinted, or just glare at this Huilen chick the whole time?"

"I wasn't _glaring,_" I protest. "I was just... looking. Very hard."

"Whatever." He kicks my ankle as softly at he can manage. "Do you want me to tell them for you? If it helps. I can."

"Didn't Bella almost rip your arm off the last time you announced an imprint?" I ask skeptically, brushing a strand of hair away from my face. Jacob's face flushes a little.

"Well, yeah. But that was an isolated incident."

"Wo-o-o-ah, big words there."

"Quiet, Leah."

"I won't be and you can't make me," I sing. Since when did I revert to age six?

Jacob scowls, pressing his hand onto my shoulder. Ew, cooties. "Focus," he mutters. "Okay, if you don't want to do it, I'll tell them. Just... just try to look nice or something. And shield yourself from Huilen. She looks pissed as hell already."

I start to reason that this might have something to do with the fact that even if we are in the Corner of Secrecy, she is a vampire and therefore heard every word we said anyway. But Jacob slides his hand down my back and pushes me forward, doing it so smoothly that I hardly even realize he's propelling me back towards Nahuel and his aunt. And it sounds ridiculously corny (it kind of _is _ridiculously corny), but when Nahuel lifts his face and catches my eye, I smile. Because I can't help it. And he smiles back.

Which is very, very nice.

Jacob moves so that he's standing a few inches in front of me, all Alpha-ish and such. I nudge his shoulder. Go on, smart one.

"We," he begins, "are shape shifters."

I resist the urge to cough out the word _obviously. _It's sort of implied, I guess, because he gives me a weary glance that spells out "shut the fuck up" and goes on:

"And our pack has a very special attribute to it."

He pauses, and I swear it feels like none of us could take a breath if we tried. _This, _I realize, _is it. _I've waited three years for this. I've waited three years to hear these words said in reference _to _me instead of _against _me. This is _not_ a bad thing anymore.

"It's called _imprinting_," Jacob says, and there's exactly one heartbeat of silence before Hell breaks loose.

Huilen is yelling so loudly I'm afraid my eardrums might crack. I have one instant to think, _She's a vampire, why the hell is she yelling?! _before Nahuel whips around and tries to shushher, but it's too late. Jacob with his nonexistent fuse is yelling right back at her, Nahuel is trying to insist she be quiet but she all she does is keep shrieking in some weird, bilingual mix of English and Spanish and what sounds like curse words in both, her nephew is grabbing her by the arm to stop her from doing _something _I'm sure shouldn't happen and I am really, really starting to wonder when this imprinting thing starts to be perfect.

"Hey!" I cry, taking Jacob's forearm and shoving him backwards just to get him to shut up. He lands against the back of the couch with a _thud _that I ignore. "Hey! _Hey!_"

Unfortunately, my fuse is only a little longer than Jacob's. And it shortens when I'm being ignored.

"Look, lady, I don't know _why _you're freaking out!" I yell, frustration bubbling up inside my throat. Huilen glares at me, gnashing her perfect white teeth, and Nahuel makes what I think is a pained sort of noise. "You didn't even let him _finish! _And trust me, it would be _really _nice if you could abstain from attacking any of us when you don't even know what the hell's going on!"

"Of course I know what's going on!" she hisses, digging her nails into the hand that Nahuel has wrapped around her wrist. Ouch. I wince, and Huilen gives a derisive laugh. "I've seen _him!_" Her whole body arches languidly towards Jacob, still leaning against the couch, which now has a reasonably-sized dent in it. "I've seen _him _and the little halfing! Disgusting! Unnatural! Love at first sight, _cuándo infierno se hela!_"

"Aunt _Huilen._" Nahuel sounds absolutely shocked; I grimace.

"I'm going to guess that whatever she said wasn't very friendly?"

He nods wearily, and _God _all I want to do is go and comfort him and make him feel better. I have a feeling, however, that would result in the loss of several important limbs.

"That was quite rude, Aunt Huilen," Nahuel muses, sounding like he's scolding a child.

"Don't you speak to me that way!" And apparently she thinks so too. The pitch of her voice goes up another notch as she seethes, "All of this is unnatural, do you hear me? I don't even know why we've stayed here this long! _Loco! _Imprinting! Probably some idiotic thing you've all made up!"

"_Excuse _me?!" I shriek. Oh, _Christ_. "If imprinting is some made-up shit, I really don't think I'd be having this damn problem! Would you like me to get _God _on the phone and ask him to take it back?! Because I really don't have that kind of power! Trust me, you both would be the _least _of my freaking worries if imprinting wasn't real! If imprinting wasn't real, I'd be fucking _married _right now!"

I think it's that word, _married_, that brings me up short. Suddenly I realize that I'm breathing too hard and that I can feel my heart throbbing in my throat, making it harder and harder to draw air. It's so silent that even Huilen has gone vampirically-still, watching. Waiting.

_If imprinting wasn't real, I'd be fucking _married _right now!_

I shove my way out of the room before Jacob can even think to call me back in. Right before I slam the door I catch Nahuel's face-- and it's so _apologetic _that I almost walk right back in.

But apparently, my imprint isn't strong enough for that.

So I shut the door and listen to it click quietly into place. And I keep walking, down the hallway and to the edge of the staircase. And I sit on the bottom step and I think about the fact that sometimes, it's much easier to let the truth slip out than a lie.


	5. Chapter 5

In one hour, I have managed to move up three stair steps.

Go exercise.

Lucky for me, the leech's stairs are encased by two walls, which means I can sit with my back pressed against one side with my legs stretched out to the other. Of course, to make my legs fit I have to prop them up at least five inches on the plaster, but that's sort of _really_ the least of my problems at the moment.

Damn, I wish I had a cigarette.

And not just to ease the smell of vampires, either. Though I do have to wonder how in one hour I haven't see_ any _of them, especially considering I'm pretty sure all the bedrooms are on the top floor. Which I am blocking with my freakishly long legs. Then again, the Cullen's are so loaded I'll bet they have a spare staircase around here somewhere.

I take a deep breath and then blow it out towards the dark ceiling. One. Freaking. Hour.

Actually, after the first five minutes Jacob showed up and tried to get me to come back. I threw my hair tie at him in response. He left me alone after that-- he probably thinks I don't want any company right now.

Which is... wrong. I do want company.

Just not from him.

I have to be careful so that I don't crack the wall when I press the sole of my foot harder against it. It's not that I can't go and ask for Nahuel, I _can_, but... he's busy. And I know exactly what he's busy doing right now, because if I strain my ears enough it's easy to make out the sound of his voice. Hell, I could pick the sound of his voice out a thousand-person crowd. It's incredible.

It's also hard to convince myself not to be sappy when all I can see is the low, dark slope of the ceiling and there's no one else in my head to witness it.

The thing is, it's not the fact that I can hear his voice. It's what his voice is _saying. _That's how I know that he's busy talking to Huilen, hopefully convincing her that attacking me and rendering me limbless is a bad idea. I wouldn't know for sure-- their conversation is mostly in Spanish. Damn freaking werewolf genes. I wonder what I missed during those Spanish classes where I was patrolling the border for leeches.

Somehow, I'm doubting it contained phrases as colorful as Huilen's sound.

So... I'll stay here for now. And I'll keep my legs propped up on the wall, and I'll listen to Nahuel's voice, and I'll stare at the ceiling until everything else starts to blur.

* * *

"Leah?" somebody asks softly. There's a gentle tap on my bare shoulder. "Leah...?"

Ugh. Go _away. _Whatever Jacob needs to say can come _after_ the first nap I've had since kindergarten. I turn my head, so it's nestled comfortably against... itchy carpet. Way to go, Jake, now I'll have to rip out your larynx.

"Sleeping... leave a message at the beep," I yawn, making sure not to inhale a mouthful of the carpeting. Even my voice sounds awful, scratchy and drowsy. And my legs _hurt. _God only knows what position they ended up in.

There's a quiet chuckle that, oddly enough, sounds like it's coming from above me. "I suppose I should try this again when you're properly awake."

It takes three more seconds of semi-consciousness for me to place to voice. Then I jerk up, so fast that I almost propel myself right off the whole _one step _that I've somehow managed to fall asleep on, trying to whirl around and _not _fall flat on my ass at the same time considering that I have a limited amount of room to work with. I do, however, end up banging the back of my head against the wall, and, pressing my fingers to the spot, I wince. That'll take a few hours to heal.

Nahuel's eyes rake over me, almost anxiously. "Are you all right?"

The sheer amount of _concern _in his tone is almost laughable-- I'm a _werewolf, _for Christ's sake, of course I'm all right. Nobody bothers to ask me that any more. I'm always going to be all right.

But... it's nice. Having someone who doesn't know that once you've been broken to pieces, you learn to find the strongest glue to put yourself back together again. So instead of snapping I nod, hoping the brush of my hand to the wisps of hair in my face hides my too-pleased smile. "Fine. Wolves heal fast, remember?"

Nahuel shrugs, and the movement is fluid in the way that it makes all the gold in his skin run together. "I don't, actually. I didn't know there was such a thing as shapeshifter's until Alice and Jasper brought me here."

I bring my knees up to my chest. Even though I have a response, it's getting harder and harder to remember. I've never had him so _close _to me before, so close that all I can breathe is his scent. It's so... foreign. Way to use my descriptive powers, but it's true. His smell makes me think about that warm, wet kind of rain that we hardly ever get in Forks. It makes me remember all the times when Seth was little and he would bring me flowers, but he would grab so many that they all formed one huge rainbow ring of buttercups and dandelions and violets. It makes me wonder exactly what kind of life he's been living that gives him the smoky trail of burnt-out fire underneath everything else.

When he breaks through my train of thought, I can't bring myself to mind. "Leah?" he asks, sounding amused, on the cusp of laughing. "Are you quite sure you haven't given yourself a concussion?"

"Yep. I've got a pretty hard head," I announce. "As Jacob will tell you."

Okay, this is definitely getting ridiculous. I don't give a shit about my admittedly hard head-- I want him to _talk _to me. I want him to _touch _me. Being near him feels like a homecoming, like my jagged edges have finally found someone who is frayed enough himself to fit, and it takes all of my recently acquired self-control not to tear my hair out. This is _not _the conversation we need to be having.

Luckily for both of us, I also happen to have a lot of bluntness to go along with the hard head.

"So," I say, and before I can help myself I lean to the side, resting my temple against the step above me. A step that is very, very close to his leg. Focus! "Imprinting. How's it feel?"

Nahuel is quiet, so quiet, and to my surprise I find that I have already been expecting the short silence while he mulls over his thoughts. "It feels... strange," he muses, glancing down at me, and his eyes are so _light _I can hardly think straight. I'll need to work on that. He continues: "I feel... pulled to you? Something to that effect. It is like Jacob and his Renesmee, am I correct?"

I pull myself up into a sitting position, but he's still perched higher on the staircase than me. "Not exactly." Staking my bets on the fact that he won't mind, I clamber up a little more, so that the crown of my head is level with his collarbone. "The kid-- Renesmee --she's still just a baby. So Jacob doesn't love her... like _that _yet. He's not _in _love with her. He just acts like her brother." The same spiel Sam gave Claire's parents after Quil imprinted. I'm damn proud of myself for remembering. "But, yeah, it's kind of different when it happens with adults... which I'm guessing you qualify as, since you're like, one hundred fifty..."

A smile flicks over his face. "Thereabouts. How old are you?"

"Me? Twenty-three." Or something. We don't look any older, obviously, but Mom still celebrates me and Seth's birthdays. I let my leg dangle down, the sole of my foot almost touching the wood of the floor. "Now I feel stupid and young. I've only got what, two decades to your fifteen?"

His lips turn up at the corners, but somehow this smile doesn't reach all the way up to his eyes. Seeing it makes a fist form in my throat. Oh, no, no, he can't be upset. What did I say? "It's not as wonderful as you'd presume, I'm afraid," he murmurs. Always so quietly. What will it take to make him _yell?_

The closeness of him, the sadness that's settled across his shoulders, it's enough to make my patched-up heart throb. "I'm sorry," I offer as retribution. "I mean, I guess-- doesn't it get annoying, only having your aunt to talk to? Did you ever get to have any friends?"

I can't stop myself from asking, from leaning in even nearer to him because I also cannot remember the last time anything has ever felt so _perfect._ In a move so quick his hand blurs, Nahuel reaches out and slips a piece of my hair back behind my ear, fast enough that by the time I realize he's done it, he's already answering my questions.

"I've known people," he says noncommittally, not looking at me. "Once I stopped growing quickly, that is. Never for long. Aunt Huilen insists we move every few months." His eyebrows draw together, a line of confusion that I so desperately want to ease. "That's why I thought she would be pleased..."

I snort. "If that was her when she's pleased, God only knows what her happy is like. That might cost me a few internal organs."

I'm not sure, but I think he might have actually rolled his eyes. "If Aunt Huilen is ever happy, I would start looking for the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse."

A laugh squirms its way out of my throat. "Why is she so pissed, then? About the... imprinting, I mean. It's not like it's bad. It's... it's perfect. The best feeling in the world," I add softly.

"I think," Nahuel says slowly, then shakes his head. It takes a few moments for him to pick up again, but I don't mind. I would wait forever. "I _know _that she feels resentment towards me. For biting her. For making her one of the _Libishomen._"

"But it wasn't your fault," I protest, even as I'm trying to remember exactly what she had said before, in the meadow. "You were just a baby, right?"

"Right," he replies, but it sounds more like he's trying to convince himself. He shifts his leg, slightly, and it brushes my hand. "I assumed she would be happy... imprinting-- it means I would get to stay here, with you. Forever."

The finality in that one word, _forever_, is enough to make me feel like I've been standing on my head and suddenly flip right-side up. Completely lightheaded. A grin blooms over my face. "You would?"

"I would what?"

"Stay forever."

He looks at me, bemused. "Why wouldn't I?"

_No one_, I think, _has ever said that this is what it feels like to have your heart _swell. Like something is unfurling in my chest, but still giving me more than enough room to breathe. Incredible. _Forever._

Unfortunately, cynicism seems to run just as deep as hope does.

"Yeah, well," I mutter, glancing down only to be met with our hands, that are so close to each other it would take only one inch to twine them together. "I don't have a very good history with guys who promise me forever."

I'm still staring at our hands, so I don't see his face when he answers. It's with nothing corny, like _I won't be like that_, or stupid or an apology or anything. He just says, in that very quiet voice of his, "I hope you'll tell me about it. I want to know."

And that's more than enough for me.

I put my hand over his then. I don't know why I do it now, exactly-- I've had plenty of chances since he sat down and we started talking. We're not even holding hands, just mine on top of his, and I notice that mine looks oddly slender in comparison. It's a weird thing to note, especially because he doesn't pull away or stiffen or anything like that. But I can feel his eyes on me, watching carefully, like he's not sure what's going to happen next. Hell, I'm not sure, either.

Jacob ruins it, of course.

His stupid shaggy head pokes into the stairs, and the interruption is so perfectly in character that I almost burst out laughing. "Hey!" he says, sounding so incredibly loud after the softness of Nahuel's voice. "Yo, Nahuel, Carlisle's looking for you. He said you promised to let him do some tests or something." Instinctively, as Jacob's eyes light over our hands, I rip mine away with more force than strictly necessary-- except Jake is already smirking. "Ahem," he adds, using his trademark subtlety. "Sorry for interrupting."

"No you're not," I growl, standing up. Nahuel does too, stepping gracefully down onto the hardwood floor, while I follow with my oh-so-appealling stomps. "What's Dr. Glitter doing to you?" I ask him.

"Blood tests, I assume. Physical strength measures. Probably to see how far off the mark I am from human," he tells me, glancing at Jacob. "Where shall I go?"

"Down the hall, left, first door you see," Jacob lists off. "Have fun."

He smiles wryly. "I'm sure I will. Goodbye, Leah. I will speak with you again tomorrow."

Is it just me, or did he say that hopefully? "Bye," I mutter, leaning against the wall. He nods, and is suddenly halfway down the hallway. In another second, I can't see him any more. "Damn." I slide down, so I'm sitting with my legs straight in front of me. "He's fucking fast."

"Yeah," Jacob agrees, but he wiggles his eyebrows so I get the impression he's no longer talking about speed. "Fast. Was it my imagination, which is pretty vivid--"

"Edward would know."

"--or were you guys holding hands?"

"We weren't _holding hands,_" I say, inflecting as much disgust into those words as I can even though, truthfully, it doesn't sound so bad. "I was resting mine on his. That's totally different."

"Semantics," Jacob brushes away, tugging me up. "It's almost ten. Do you wanna go home?"

"Mmm. I don't know. I'm tired. Are you staying here?" I know he can hear the implied _again, _but he doesn't mention it.

"Yeah. The Cullens have, like, ten extra bedrooms. Unless you're eager to share a bed with Nahuel, I'm sure I can swing that-- _ouch. _You are _so _violent." He rubs the spot on his arm I just elbowed, scowling. I laugh.

"Like I'd stay here. I mean, I know they won't kill me in my sleep or anything. Hopefully. But at least my lungs have stopped burning," I add cheerfully.

"I told you you'd get used to it."

"Barely. But I still want to go home."

"Whatever you want," Jacob says, stretching his arms out in a big show of being tired. What the hell is he getting at? "But you're gonna have to phase for that."

"So? I don't know if you've noticed, Jake, but I sort of do that a lot."

"Quil and Embry are patrolling outside since they didn't want to come in and see Nessie."

"Shocker. And I repeat: so?"

"They're going to know, you imprint-ed!" Jacob singsongs, grinning. "They're going to tell, every-one!"

Oh shit."They would _not,_" I hiss, rounding on him. "Those bastards would not. _I _will tell people when _I _want to tell people!"

Jacob shrugs, pretending like he doesn't care at all. "Whatever you have to believe, Leah." The too-wide smile is still planted on his annoying face. "But this could all be solved by staying here tonight. I mean, I know you're tired and everything, and if you really don't feel like running..."

I sigh. See, right when Jake says something obnoxious, he turns around and does something like this: gives me an easy way out. Crap. I might as well go with it. I fake a yawn, but it becomes real in the middle. "Yeah, really tired. I think I might collapse right here. In fact, if I phase, it's possible I'll run into a tree."

"That would suck. Splinters in the head and such."

"I know. So, hmm, I think I'll crash here. Just for a night. Y'know, to avoid head splinters."

Jacob rolls his eyes, takes my forearm, and spins me towards the staircase. "Yeah. For that."


	6. Chapter 6

_Author's Notes:_

Hello again. I just wanted to note that tomorrow marks the official end of my winter break, so my updates will get slowed down a little. But I've made it my personal goal to update at least once a week, so let's hope I stick to it :)

_To Infinite101: _Yeah, imprints supposedly feel "drawn" to the people who imprinted on them-- just to make the whole process easier, I guess ;) Which would explain why Emily and Sam ended up together even though Leah was Emily's best friend. So that's where Nahuel's comment about feeling "pulled" to Leah comes from. Thanks for your reviews, by the way. ^.^

Enjoy chapter 6!

* * *

I have spent the last two hours and twelve minutes attempting to sleep.

And trust me, the only reason I can be this exact with the time is because of the clock positioned directly across from my bed at Casa de Crypt. Which I've been staring at. Silently. For two hours and twelve minutes.

Plus thirty-seven seconds.

Making a disgusted sort of sound, I roll over onto my side. Ah, yes, the infamous "if I can't see you then you can't see me" ploy. If I don't watch the clock, time will somehow go by faster. Because, you know, I'm always able to bend the laws of physics that way. It's because I'm secretly a fairy, not a shape shifter.

Wow, there is so a point to my hilarious inner dialogue if nobody is even in my head to hear it (_for once_).

Well, that's sort of a lie. I wonder how far away Edward has to be until he can't hear me anymore? I know him and his annoying wife and slightly less annoying child have gone back to their cottage by now. I snort against the comforter. Who the hell has a _cottage, _anyway? It's not like they sleep in it, or anything. Insert eyebrow waggle here. So basically, as I said to Jacob a few nights ago, the only reason they have a house is to make sex more convenient.

He could not disagree.

Just as I give up on my "bend the laws of physics" plan in favor of flipping onto my back again to watch the clock, I realize my mistake. Shit, shit, shit. Bad train of thought, Leah, bad train of thought. Do _not--_

Too late.

I muffle a groan in my faintly-leech-scented pillow. I am twenty-freaking-three years old. Shouldn't hormones have_ left me the hell alone _by now? Like, done a random check-up and said, 'oh, hey, she's way too old for this crap'?

No. Apparently not.

Don't think about sex, don't think about sex, don't think about sex...

I'm starting to reconsider the benefits of never aging. Very, very technically, I'm still a teenager, if nineteen really does count. So it follows I would still have teenage... _feelings_. Yeah. At least I'm not a virgin, because that would totally suck ass, I rationalize to myself, eyes still fixed on the clock. Well. Everybody on the effing planet Earth and some beaming in from Jupiter know that Sam was my first. Which totally _does _suck ass, instead of hypothetically doing so.

Then I grin, straight up at the shadowed ceiling.I can't resist doing it.

_Sam. Sam Uley. Sam. Samsamsamsam. _

Nothing.

Of course, it really has been nothing for awhile now. Nothing romantic, anyway. Just... anger. And hate and anger and some more hate. All rolled up to spell out S-a-m.

Now... nothing.

I don't care.

He can grow a beard or become a pimp or convert to Hinduism. I don't care. _I don't care._

I actually laugh out loud, not caring that the leeches can hear me from anywhere in the house and will probably think I'm even more psychotic than they already believe.

Not that I know where they are right now; I really have no clue what they do all night instead of sleepibf. But it probably has something to do with--

_Crap!_

Because this wouldn't be incredibly awkward if Edward _could _hear me.

_Imprints are romantic, right?_ I try to reason in my head. So it should really spawn no surprise that I had spent the better part of the two hours and twelve minutes I've been trying to sleep thinking about making out. With Nahuel, if you want to get specific. And... other things. Which really aren't important (or appropriate) right now. Nope. Not important.

And it really, _really _doesn't help that I can smell him.

Jacob said I should stay in this room because the leeches hardly ever come down here. That I would sleep better without the stench of vampire crowding up my lungs. I am now beginning to think that he was really just trying to live out his secret dream of being a matchmaker by placing my imprint and I in a secluded area of this freakin' mansion. Thank you Jake, future host of Love Connection.

Nahuel happens to be across the hall from me. Sleeping or not, I have no idea, but he's there. Him and his weird-yet-somehow-oddly-appealing-scent.

Fate doesn't just hate me. Fate has actually _bitch slapped _me. And that's saying something.

It must be an imprinting thing. That's the only explanation I can come up with as to why it feels like there's this huge gaping _hole _right next to me. I'm pressed so far to the side of the bed that one rock of the mattress would send me falling right onto my ass, all to try and pretend that I don't notice how damn empty it feels to not have him beside when when I _know _he should be.

I sigh, then throw the blankets off of me. "Screw this," I mutter out loud, as quietly as I can manage. Good thing Jacob went ahead and convinced See-the-Future freak not to loan me any pajamas-- I might have gagged.

Nobody should be phased right now. I can run for awhile, without having to deal with the whole awkward, "holy shit, you imprinted?" thing. Shuddering at the thought, I halfheartedly run my fingers through my hair in front of the huge mirror that's plastered to one of the walls. Decent. I can already feel my body getting ready to phase, like there's all this extra energy thrumming through my veins. It's weird as shit before you get used to it. And, because I'm ridiculously childish, I attempt to follow the pattern of shadows made from the wide open window as I walk to the door. Which ends in me almost impaling myself on the doorknob.

"Christ," I'm muttering to myself as I ease the door open and step into the hallway. "I am so fucking graceful. I should put on a goddamn ballet. Jesus."

"Do you always swear this much?"

I jump. Like, actually jump about three inches in the air before collapsing against the door. It's instinctual, okay? When you're _me, _you learn to live with the fact that usually, the things you don't expect are going to end up almost being the death of you. Stranger accosting you in the hallway of the leech's house? Wants to kill you. No doubt about it.

Except... it isn't a stranger.

While I try not to hyperventilate, Nahuel watches me calmly from his position on the floor, his back against the wall. I try to narrow my eyes at him, but I can't.

Because it's so nice to _see _him.

"Do you always spend your nights sitting alone in the hallway?" I snap, but without the bite Jacob swears I put into everything I say. All the adrenaline I got from the surprise is fading away, leaving in its place... relief? I'm relieved to see him? I mean, I'm pretty sure he wouldn't skip out during the night or anything, but...

Yeah. There's always a "but."

He laughs under his breath and lifts himself up in one fluid move. The single huge window at the very end of the hallway makes him half dark, half light, and I can't stop staring up at him. I'm not used to people being taller than me. "Not always. I was waiting for you," he explains mildly.

It is, as Huilen would say, _ridículo_, and maybe it's just me, but I think my heartbeat thrums just a little bit louder. "You do realize you could have just come into my room," I remind him. Yes, that would have been a very, very good idea. In my room there's a bed--

I break off my own thoughts. _Focus. _

Man, do I need to get some.

"I could have," Nahuel concedes, and suddenly I'm really glad Edward's not around to hear the direction of my thoughts. Aw-kward. "But I didn't want to bother you, and I assumed you would come outside soon enough. Carlisle tells me that you shape shift as often as possible. It was only a matter of waiting."

I stare at him. There's not really much else I can do, at this point-- I _was _going to phase. He _was _sitting out here, waiting for me.

Is this another imprint thing? Or is this just... him? Because the thing is... I can't see Sam doing anything besides barging into my room if he wanted me.

I make myself shake my head, clear my thoughts. "Dead on," I murmur, not catching his eye. "But I don't want to phase anymore."

And honestly, it feels like I'm being pricked all over, with his eyes on me like that. I wait for the inevitable _why not? _after which I'll have to explain that I only wanted to phase so I could think about _him. _Because that won't be totally weird and pin me as obsessed. I can feel my jaw setting, my shoulders rising, as I prepare to explain myself after that inevitable question. I won't be able to lie. Damn that give-your-imprint-whatever-they-want compulsion.

Except, actually, he doesn't ask me why. And believe me when I say: I did _not _see that one coming. Instead, he leans back against the wall in an almost contemplative sort of way and looks and me and says, "What would you prefer, then?"

I blink. And promptly feel like a stupid fish.

"Because," he continues blithely in my silence, "I was considering taking a walk." He smiles, and, even though I try to stop it, something in me bubbles over with_ happiness_. "Would you like to join me?"

* * *

We walk.

We walk around the leech's house. We walk through one of the paths in the woods. We walk all the way down to where our pack's territory hits Sam's pack's territory.

And we talk.

It's surprisingly nice to talk to him-- surprisingly _easy. _I don't like talking to most people; that's a given. I can talk to Jacob because all we do is mock each other incessantly. I can talk to the leeches because they aren't even _people, _and besides, we just spend the entire whacked-out conversation insulting each other in the most subtle ways possible. I can talk to Seth because he's been babbling at me since he was born.

Everyone else... not so much.

I think, if I hadn't cultivated my reputation as totally bad-ass, I would have gotten one as a hermit instead. I am not a people person. There's no plainer, nicer way to put it. I don't enjoy talking to most of the human race.

So I definitely consider it good luck on my part that Nahuel's not exactly all human.

While we walk, he mostly asks me things. About my family, my pack, my life in general. It would be weird to have someone so interested in me...

...But somehow I can't bring myself to mind.

I guess it's just refreshing to get to tell my side of the story. When I phased for the very first time, _everybody_ knew that Sam had imprinted. Everybody already knew it, and they knew it was so mind-numbingly incredible that he just couldn't stop it, so they really didn't have to listen to _me._

Basically, Sam got there first.

Even the freaking _vampires _heard about me, from Jacob. Not that Jake isn't a reliable source (though this was back before he was, in some semblance, my best friend, so I can't know for sure), but really, what's my business is _my business. _My life isn't a TV soap opera, no matter how much all the leeches seem to think so.

So, with Nahuel, I might be telling him what everyone is already aware of anyway... but it's on my own time.

And that makes a lot of difference.

"What about you?" I finally ask, pausing in front of the river, where we've ended up. Apparently our territory is only over _parts _of the river, but I don't think anyone will bother checking this late. It's not like they could do anything to Nahuel, anyway. You can't hurt another wolf's imprint. It's supposed to be worse than dying yourself, but I really don't want to find out for sure.

"What about me?" he echoes.

"You have my life story. Now what about you?"

He's silent for one long moment, staring at the smooth surface of the river. Then he sits down, letting his legs swing gracefully into the water, and looks up at me, asking me to sit too with a tilt of his chin. I do. Why wouldn't I?

"You heard Aunt Huilen in the meadow, didn't you?" He turns to face me, gives me an odd, appraising look. I nod my head, the heel of my foot making ripples in the water. "Then that's everything."

I make sure he catches me rolling my eyes. "No, it's not."

His answer sounds utterly patient. "Then what do you wish to know?"

"Well..." How about everything? This would be so much easier if _he _was the one I actually shared a brain with, instead of, oh, I don't know, _everyone else on the planet_. "You have family besides Huilen, right?" I needle, leaning closer. He said he had sisters, didn't he? "What about, you know, your sisters?"

Nahuel keeps his gaze steadily on the water, not moving. "I haven't seen them for a couple of decades."

The fact that he can say it so _calmly _is what worries me. Seth's annoying as shit when he wants to be, but a couple of decades without him? "Fine. What are their names?" I try. He smiles at this, and I am absurdly happy to finally ask a question he both can and wants to answer.

"Mary, Grace, and Norah."

My eyebrows rise as he lists them off. "They don't sound very..."

"Foreign?" he supplies, smile transforming into a grin. I nod, relieved to not have to say it out loud. It just seems rude. "They are. Mary and Grace are Brazilian, and Norah is Chilean. Our father named them. I believe he's from somewhere in Europe, so they don't have very cultural names, I'm afraid."

And, for some reason, the idea of him not even knowing where his father is from strikes me as incredibly sad. Maybe it's because, even if my dad is dead, I still_ know _him. I know what course in high school he was best at and the way he could never pronounce the word "femininity" and how he'd always tell me these stupid riddles as breakfast and then make me suffer through the day trying to figure out the answer.

Nahuel still has a father out there, somewhere, but he's too busy knocking up human women to even bother to see how his own son turned out.

How _demented_ is that?

I'm not used to being sympathetic towards people. I don't know exactly what I'm supposed to do to show him that I even feel that way. So instead of thinking about it and analyzing it to death, I just lean over a little more and rest my head on his shoulder.

I did it with Sam all the time, whenever we sat beside each other in assemblies or whatever. It's a little burst of affection; it screams, _we're together. _Except I don't _know _if Nahuel and I are. I have no clue.

But he doesn't move, and he doesn't say anything, and neither do I. And we stay there for awhile, with my head on his shoulder, until I notice that the stars are fading and the sky is bleeding pink at the edges.

* * *

"So you're sure you didn't have sex with him?"

I sigh and scoop another spoonful of Lucky Charms into my mouth. Luckily, the leeches actually have good cereal. "Yes, Jacob, I am totally sure. Unless he sleep-raped me, which I find highly unlikely."

Jacob is sitting on the counter top, his feet almost hitting the floor. I, meanwhile, am enjoying a delicious brunch at the table. Brunch because it's eleven o' clock in the morning right now and I only got up half an hour ago, leading, I assume, to Jake's incredibly annoying questions about _where have I been all night? _

I stand up to go rinse out my bowl, because it's so much of an ingrained reaction to finishing my cereal that I don't even bother to remember it's _vampires _for God's sake, and they don't really give a damn. "I told you. Stop being a jackass. We walked. We talked. That's it. Okay? We didn't sneak off to have wild sex." Though that would've been nice.

God, shut up, hormones!

I love how I've begun to talk about them as though they're actually a seperate entity.

Jacob looks totally unconvinced. "Sure, sure." I can tell he's about to say something else, but Spawn rushes into the room just then, and obviously I'm not important anymore. Stupid kid. He picks her up and sets her beside him, so she can do her freaky-ass cheek-touch thing. I shudder, wiping my hands on my cut-offs (that, yes, I have been wearing since yesterday...), and reclaim my seat at the table. I figure it's the least likely place to be infested with leech-scent.

"Yep!" Jacob beams when the kid puts her hand down again. I notice that she's got _The Scarlett Letter _tucked between her arm and her side. "Miss Leah did imprint on Nahuel. Awesome, huh?"

"Why does she care?" I ask, folding my arms over my chest, irritated they're talking about me like I'm not even here. "And 'Miss Leah'?"

Jacob shrugs. "She's polite. And Edward and Bella told her last night, but she didn't believe them."

Great. My life really is just one big dramatic play to the leeches.

"I think it's lovely," a tiny voice interrupts.

Holy shit. Did the kid just speak with her _voice? _

She _has _a voice?

Jacob and I are both staring at her, dumbfounded. Very slowly, her cheeks turn a deep red, and she mumbles, "You have both been lonely. I am happy you can be together."

"Um." I glance over at Jacob, wondering what the etiquette for this situation is, but he just looks all moony-eyed at his beloved speaking. "Yeah. Thanks." I push myself up from the table, scraping the chair back, and will my next words to sound casual. "Where is he, by the way?" When we finally came inside, he told me he had to go and talk with Esme and left at the stairs. Which sucked. Not that I was, y'know, jealous or anything.

The kid pushes her hand on Jake's neck before he can make fun of me. One of the times I'm actually thankful for her. After she pulls away and his eyes stop looking all blurry, he glances up at me. "He went hunting with Esme and Jasper." Oh. Kid was actually answering my question. She nods along with Jacob, taking her book and settling it in her lap.

"Nahuel must hunt every other day," she tells us, and she says it so _compassionately _that it takes a lot of work not to grimace. Even the glorified toddler can be more sympathetic than I can. "Momma and Daddy say it is difficult for him." She flips open the book, shuffling pages carefully. I look at Jake, but he only shrugs. Up to me, I guess.

"What's difficult?" I ask her. She glances at me, too-big eyes wide, and I have the strangest feeling that she's debating with herself.

"Drinking from animals," she finally murmurs. My eyebrows knit together, willing her to go on. "It is a difficult taste to acquire after only drinking from humans for so long, but he isn't allowed to hunt for humans around here. Nahuel is still becoming accustomed to something other than-- than human blood," she finishes, softly, like she didn't just blow my entire world apart.

Jacob starts, "Ness--" then turns to me, his mouth rounded out. But I can't look at him. I stare at her, at the kid, at _Nessie, _and will her to tell me this is only a demented joke. Nahuel has never killed a human. He's never sucked their blood.

But she stays quiet. She doesn't start reading, just watches me. Sadly. Pityingly.

I think it's the _pitying_ part that does it. I whirl around and throw open the back door, mesh cutting into my fingers, even as Jacob yells, "Leah!"

I can't stop myself from phasing as soon as my bare feet hit the grass, turning into paws in an instant, my clothes bursting into tatters around me. It's fluid, running as a wolf. I force myself towards the woods instead of going around aimlessly, thrusting into the thickest patches of trees, their branches scraping through my fur. I can't hear anyone in wolf form, only me, and I'm so, so grateful, even if I'm sure Jacob will follow soon.

I knew it. I knew he did. I just couldn't _admit _it. Even if his eyes don't show it, his aunt's do.

Huilen's face. Her blood red eyes, glaring at me. The most dangerous enemy out of everyone, because the vegetarians have at least some control over themselves, from just trying to deny what they are. And I've heard the tall one, the one with the scars, compare it to raging alcoholism that never gets any better. But they _try. _

I don't know where he is, so I can't go to him, beg for an explanation that makes sense. Anything other than the fact that he's a _murderer. _

I can't help it-- I howl out loud at the thought. Nahuel can't be a murderer, can't be, can't be, can't be-- my howl echoes through the air, quivering for a long second. And, for so long my legs start to ache, I keep doing the one thing that I've always done best.

I run.


	7. Chapter 7

104 reviews? You all _rock. _:D

_To dyingimmortal: _Would you believe that I had no idea anonymous reviews were blocked? xD Thanks for pointing it out. And actually, I've been thinking about the venom-issue since I started the story (basically because that's what people seem to wonder the most when they think of Leah/Nahuel), so yes, it'll come up within a couple of chapters. I want to focus on _everything _that could present a problem for them, so there aren't an SMeyer-esque loose ends after the last chapter, lol.

_edit: _Thanks to twilight22lover for pointing out that Leah started dating Sam as a freshman, not the two-years-later deal I had going on ;) Fixed!

* * *

See, when I was fifteen, I was fairly sure that by the time I reached twenty-three, most of life's problems would have cleared up. That my most pressing dilemma would be what sorts of decorations I wanted at my wedding to a Man-Yet-Unnamed. Or what kind of couch I should put in my living room. If I needed more milk when I went to the store. Those kinds of things.

News. Freaking. Flash.

Those problems I was positive would go away? Those nitty-gritty ones about the annoying zit on my nose and the essay on subtext our English teacher wanted and what to do about those damned stomach clenches I always got around Sam Uley? I got my wish. They went. Far, far, away.

Because wow, these new ones are so much better.

I just wish that, right now, I could go back in time about six years and have a talk with Younger Me. Tell her that yeah, things might appear to suck right then and there, but hey, live it up. Since one day in the apparently-not-so-distant-future, she was going to end up lying in her bed, in her same old room, in her same old house, arm flung over her face, realizing that it is very, very possible to love someone so much and to absolutely _hate_ what they've done.

* * *

Someone knocks on my door. At first I'm sure that it's just one of those half-awake, half-asleep sounds you hear when you're just sort of dreaming, but then it happens again. And again. I roll over onto my stomach, letting out a great big breath that forms the words, "Mmm, come in."

Except whoever it is doesn't just come in: they _barge. _Door slamming, feet stomping, angry muttering, the whole shebang. Before I can think to shield myself, I feel a hand wrapping around my forearm, dragging me up into a sitting position on the bed, all without ceasing the mumbles of irritation.

I squint, not fully opening my eyes. My window is flung wide open, like it always is (because you don't really worry about robbers when you're perfectly capable of dropping a couple of cars on their heads ). I catch a yolky-yellow glow spread across my plain white walls, and it softens everything in the room for a second.

"Leah! Are you even freaking listening to me?"

Jesus _Christ. _I slam my hand over my face and fall back onto the bed. Ugh. I am not dealing with him now. "No, actually, I'm really not listening. Now go the fuck away, Embry, I am so not in the mood."

My eyes might be closed, but I can still hear Embry growling: "You're _never _in the mood!"

It takes five seconds of silence before I burst out laughing. Maybe my mind's in the gutter or something, I don't know, but it's so _damn _funny, especially since he didn't even mean for it to be that way. Accidental humor is always the most hilarious. I cough, choking on my laughter, and prop myself up on my elbows. My stomach clenches, makes the muscles there ache, but I have some vague idea that the more I keep laughing the more it will hurt, and the more it hurts the less I have to think about... well.

I kick the sheets that are tangled around my feet to the floor, biting my wrist to keep from giggling any more. I think I gave myself the hiccups. Embry is standing at the edge of my bed, with the shape shifter's trademark shirtless-ness, looking like he's wondering what asylum to call.

"Um, Leah?"

_Hiccup._ "Yeah?"

"...I didn't mean that in a sexual way."

I fling my arms across the mattress so that it probably seems like I'm making a snow angel. With, you know, the bounty of snow that falls in my bedroom. _Hiccup. _"I know. But it was funny."

Embry's eyebrows scrunch together; he looks like a caveman. I snort. _Hiccup. _"Leah, are you, like, drunk?"

"Noooo," I enunciate, struggling back up into a sitting position with my legs crossed. But dammit, why didn't I think of that? I look so old that I wouldn't even get carded, for fuck's sake. "Hey, wanna get me some tequila, though? I'll share with you."

"That's illegal."

"Whatever."

I am perfectly aware that I'm acting like a total freak. Embry, unfortunately, doesn't seem to realize that I realize this. I think he's mentally calculating the distance between me and the door and me and the window, to see which one would be the best escape route. Hell. He can think whatever he wants. He doesn't need to know that if I just keep babbling on and laughing incessantly and asking for tequila then there won't be time for me to focus on that thin, paper cut slit in my chest, the one that keeps bleeding details into my head: dark braided hair, a hand under mine, _Mary, Grace, and Norah..._

Oh, _God. _It actually _hurts _to think about him, to try and make myself not remember his name. And it's so much different than all the _other _fucking times I've tried to forget about a man, because instead of one huge, gaping hole that takes over everything, there's only this tiny fissure the width of a thread-- but it's cut so deep that I can feel it all the way in my bones.

I guess I must have shivered, or grimaced, or _something_, because all of sudden Embry's tapping the top of my head with his knuckles. "Leah?" he asks, balancing over the bed with one arm to reach me. "Hey, Leah, what's the matter?" Then, when I don't answer him: "Leeeeeah?" Ugh, I don't want his hands on me, I want... "Le-le-le-le-le-ah?"

I shift my head, making a short, tangled curtain of hair waterfall against my cheek. "Seth's been saying that since he was six," I inform him monotonously. "It's not funny any more." Stupid Chia-Pet commercials. I toss my chin up, narrow my eyes. "Weren't you pissed when you came in here, Embryo?"

The name has the desired effect. "Don't _call _me that. You are _such_ a bitch," Embry complains.

"And did you want a cape to go with the rest of your Captain Obvious costume?" I deadpan.

"Look!" Embry growls, because I'm just that good at getting people riled up. Not that I particularly care about it, now. I keep staring at him, watching as he takes a couple of breaths to calm himself down. "Look, I took your shift last night, okay?" he mutters, staring at the ground. "And Jake said not to bug you about it because you needed some time alone or whatever, but I was pissed 'cause we were out late and I almost missed class this morning. Uh, but yeah, I guess Jake was right..." He shuffles his feet, unconsciously. "So, um, do you wanna, you know... talk about it?" he finishes, in a tone that suggests he really, really hopes that I don't. Woo-freaking-hoo, it's his lucky day.

"Why the hell would I?" For lack of anything better to do, and also considering that I've just realized I'm hella hungry, I toss my legs over the side of the bed. I've had the shorts that I'm wearing right now since I was fifteen. It's sort of obvious Embry notices, by the ridiculous way he averts his eyes. Whatever. I really don't want anyone staring at me unless it's--

"_Fuck_."

I stumble off the bed, grab Embry's shoulder for balance, and take a second to snap a ponytail holder up off the floor before rubbing my eyes with a yawn and going on to the kitchen. I bet we have some noodles, I can make pasta. Embry's annoying footsteps hop after me even when I wander into the pantry and grab a box of spaghetti noodles, so I almost slam my head into his chest trying to leave again.

His eyes dart anywhere else besides me. "You all right?" he finally asks apprehensively. I shove my way past him. Until he touches my arm while I'm filling a pot with water, I'm hopeful that he's left.

"What's up, Leah? Why did Jake say you needed time alone?"

My hand shakes so hard water spills over the pot's edge; I force myself to turn and set it carefully on the eye of the stove. "To stop you from annoying the fuck out of me. Leave, Embry." My voice comes out so rough and irritable it could probably be classified as a _snarl_, but Embry doesn't budge. Stupid, suicidal idiot.

"I just want to help," he protests, but I can already hear the edge in his voice, how the air around us seems more charged, amped up. We're both getting pissed, and when two werewolves get pissed, how does it end? _Fight, fight, fight! _

"Thanks Dr. Phil, but I don't need any help."

"Yes, you do. Stop trying to downplay it."

"Oh, God, stop being such an _Edward! _You don't know anything about what I need!" I shout, a haze of red forming a ring around my eyes as I break the stiff noodles in half so fiercely that they splinter into tiny pieces over the floor. "_Shit!_" Without being expressly aware of what I'm doing I sink down, brushing the remnants of my breakfast into my palm, but there's so damn many that I only end up spreading them around more. And the most _pathetic _part is that I can actually feel _tears_ pricking at the backs of my eyes and that is so completely freaking _ridiculous _that I just turn around and lean against the cabinets with my knees up to my chest because _I_ _can't fucking do this. _

I can hear Embry chanting, "Oh, crap, oh, shit, Leah, what's the matter? I'm really sorry, like, really freaking sorry..." but I don't answer him. Air that I need to talk is pressed on top of my chest, seeping into the paper cut wound that only lengthens like a fault line, splitting at the seams, and all I can think is _Oh God, my heart is breaking._

Suddenly, horribly, every single sentence Sam has ever used to try and explain himself to me spins in wide spirals across my eyes. _Can't fight it, hurts too much to try, like splitting yourself in two. _I conjure up each excuse, each ploy to make me forgive him, his face as he says them, but no matter how hard I try I still can't feel anything remotely _like _forgiveness_._ He's right,it does hurt, it hurts so _damn_ much, but Emily-- Emily, much as I hate to say it, is _nice. _He didn't have to work at his imprint.

Emily isn't a _murderer. _

And Emily definitely isn't someone he was supposed to protect all the innocent people from.

* * *

Embry calls Seth. I don't know when he does or even why Seth hasn't been here, but I'm guessing Jacob is at the core of it all. _Stay away from Leah, _he'll have told them. _She's off her freaking rocker._

Which, right now, I kind of am. I've managed to move from the kitchen tile to the couch in the living room, though, and am presently hanging upside down with my hair skimming the floor. I always liked sitting this way. Embry doesn't seem to get that it's more of a comfort thing than a _holy shit phone the asylum _thing, because he's been staring at me in between tiptoeing around the couch and whispering when he talks to Seth.

"I'm not a head case, you know," I announce dully, staring at his feet. The only part I care to see. "Quit treating me like I am." And, belatedly: "What did Jake tell you?"

Embry shuffles closer. He really should clip his toenails. "Why?"

"I dunno, I just usually have this desire to know what other people say concerning me. Shocking, huh?"

I wait for a sarcastic remark in response, but he only sighs. Well. It's no fun if he doesn't hit back. I'm busy idly wondering how far I can roll my eyes back in my head when Embry mutters, so quietly I'm not sure if he meant for me to hear it at all:

"Jake said you imprinted."

That's all it takes.I do a freaking _ninja-flip _off the couch, land heavily on my knees, and don't even notice the _thud _or the window panes rattling on the sills. Damn fucking Jacob fucking Black and his fucking self-fucking-righteousness.

Or, in summary:

Fuck.

And because according to Mom (who really should have majored in psychology), I have trouble with keeping my anger to myself, I do the only logical thing-- I round on Embry. Or, really, I round on_ poor _Embry, who has been reduced to huddling against the wall. Poor stupid idiot of a kid.

"He. Told. You. That."

"Uh, well, sort of, yeah. I mean, not if it pisses you off. Uh-huh." He nods vigorously, like it will stop me. I can feel my hands shaking, my arms, my spine, and I know I'm going to phase soon, I'm going to _explode _soon. How _dare _Jacob, how _fucking _dare he. He has no right to tell anyone anything, especially when I haven't even _seen _Nahuel for more than a day--

Like one of the pack punched me right in the stomach, I almost cry out with how much it hurts. If just thinking his _name_ does this to me, what's going to happen when I do see him again, when I do talk to him? When I can ask him _why_, why he... he has to...

"Where's Seth?" I choke, wiping my mouth with my wrist as if that will take all of the thoughts away. "Where is he, shouldn't he be here by now? Why haven't you checked on him?! If one of the leeches--"

"He was just leaving when I talked to him," Embry cuts me off hurriedly, attempting a soothing sort of tone. Obviously, it doesn't do crap. Wonder why I never knew I could freak everyone out more by being weepy and pathetic than by just kicking ass. "He was helping Jake babysit the kid, but Jake's coming down here too. And, uh, please don't be sad anymore. It's sort of freaking me out," he adds, almost as an afterthought. Wow, so sorry my pain is making him uncomfortable, I'll try to be somewhere else the next time Fate pimp-slaps me. Which happens to be way worse than bitch-slapping me, by the way.

I would know.

I sink back onto the couch, suddenly exhausted. I curl my arm into a pillow and stare at the front door, willing it to open. If I keep staring at the door, I reason, then that stupid, rational part of my mind will stop telling me that if I just accepted him, accepted whatever he does and however he eats, I wouldn't feel so horrible, so split-down-the-middle. People can be away from their imprint without this... but how many people have actually tried to _stop _it? Those bands that I feel, connecting us-- are their centers made out of freaking steel?

There's a swish, then, one that I recognize as the screen door. A bang as it hits the side of the porch, and voices on the other side that make me shoot up, furious again. _Jacob. _Embry takes a step towards me, as if he could do anything at all. The door I've been watching swings halfway open, Seth's face popping into the house. There are dark, leech-like circles under his eyes; he looks absolutely dead on his feet. I resist the urge to tell him to go to straight to bed.

"Sis?" He still hasn't come all the way into the house. I can see the spread of his shoulder, the jut of his collarbone, and that's it. I almost snort. Smart move, Jake, hide behind Seth. "Embry called me, and, uh, Jacob said--"

"Yes!" I explode, digging my nails into my palm so that half-moons of blood well there before the skin seals over. "I know what Jacob said! Just come out and _say _it, would you?! I imprinted! I imprinted and Jacob has _no _right to tell _anyone! _I don't give a damn if he's the Alpha!" I rant, throwing my hands up into the air; Seth looks vaguely frightened. He opens his mouth to interrupt but I go on obliviously, "You know what, he can take his Alpha genes and shove them up his--"

"--idiotic ass, yeah, I know how this one goes," mutters a voice that I have no problem realizing is Jacob's. The door is shoved all the way open so I can catch a glimpse of my most esteemed leader, and Seth yelps as he's pushed to the side so Jacob can come in. He's so huge he fills the whole doorway, making an eclipse-like shadow appear in the room.

Jacob rubs the back of his neck, looking pained. "Leah, you might wanna stop talking now--"

"_Excuse _me?!" Hell no. I step forward, gnash my teeth together, try to get the shaking in my limbs under control. "I'll talk all I want to talk, this is my damn house, and you know exactly why I'm pissed at you, it's nobody's business but _mine _that I imprinted!" I seethe, half-expecting steam to pour out of my ears.

Jacob actually winces. "Yeah, well, you kind of just made it somebody else's," he mumbles, and before I can ask him what the hell that means he steps all the way into the room so that I can see who's standing behind him.

"Oh," I say faintly, stepping (stumbling) backwards. "Hey, Sam."


	8. Interlude: Nahuel

_--_

_Interlude: Nahuel_

_--_

"That is twelve points."

I nod, dutifully writing down the number as Renesmee fusses with the tiles in an attempt to line them up perfectly on the worn board we have been playing on. Mrs. Cullen offered to procure a new one while food shopping for her granddaughter and I, but Renesmee refused. I suppose this one has some form of sentimental value, considering that it was dragged down from the attic of her human grandfather's home.

Renesmee unfolds her legs from beneath her and rolls onto her stomach, as I study the small tiles lying beside me. It is a simple enough game, but unfortunately much more difficult in practice than in theory. The letters drawn become increasingly random and minimize the number of possible word formations.

"Is is particularly fair to make someone who's first language isn't English play _Scrabble_?" I ask Renesmee, and then smile to let her know that I'm only teasing. She does seem to take most things as facts rather than jests.

She smiles back, a little hesitantly, but still a smile. "Don't say that. Daddy told me you learned English years ago."

"Yes, but do you realize how difficult it is?"

"It is not difficult," she protests, childishly. I shake my head very deliberately and begin to slide my tiles onto the board between us. "You can remember everything about it, besides," Renesmee points out a moment later, frowning at her own tiles. "And that was fifteen points. Good job."

"Thank you. Yes, I can, but language is always changing. Grammatical rules are up-heaved at least every generation, not to mention slang terms and expletives."

She blanches, glancing from the board to me and back again. "Momma says expletives are not nice words to use."

"Your mother is right," I agree. "They are generally considered rude and crude."

Renesmee's face brightens. "And socially unacceptable!" she sings, looking more like a little girl than I've ever seen before. "Grandpa Carlisle taught me that." She giggles. "They are rude, crude, and socially unacceptable!" A pause while she taps her fingers on the floor, studying the configuration of her tiles. "But my Jacob and Miss Leah are fond of expletives. I believe they use them to add emphasis in their conversations."

"Hmm" is my noncommittal answer. Without meaning to, Renesmee has managed to come dangerously close to a very touchy subject. I give her an encouraging smile. "Go on, then. What is your word?"

Her small, pearly teeth show in a wide smile. "_Writhe. _Twenty-three points," she says pridefully. Her hand fists in the small velvet bag, searching for more letters. "But I believe that you are winning."

"Only by five points or so," I reassure her, scanning the piece of paper she presented me with to keep score on. "Although, I'm merely estimating." I lean over, catch a spiral scent of wood fire and smoke in the air, and grin. "I believe we have an eavesdropper," I murmur, taking hold of Renesmee's chin to turn it towards the door. It takes her only the barest of seconds to sniff the air and then clap her hands together in delight.

"Come in, Seth!"

The door to the sitting room creaks open. "I always forget about that stupid smell thing," the younger werewolf grumbles, showing himself in. Trailing behind him are a collection of Renesmee's aunts and uncles and a smattering of other, non-related vampires. I draw myself up to lean against the sofa (having, at Renesmee's request, moved the coffee table out of the way to better accommodate our game). As she greets each one of them in turn, I nod politely. They may be half of my kind, but unfortunately my skills do not include being in company with a multitude of vampires all at once. Embarrassingly, the experience is rather unsettling. It is, I think, a bit like the feeling of being _almost _included, but not quite. Uncomfortable.

Mrs. Cullen (the wife of Doctor Cullen, as opposed to Renesmee's mother) interrupts my thoughts when she comes to sit beside us, smiling brightly. "Roped Nahuel into playing _Scrabble_, did you Nessie?" she teases, brushing a wisp of hair from her face before she leans over to inspect the board. "I was always awful at this game. Never could get the double word scores or anything."

"It's easy, Grandma Esme," Renesmee proclaims, spreading her tiles wide. "It's fun. Nahuel is good. He's winning."

I wonder, briefly, if it is only the appearance of her grandmother that makes her speak with such childlike disjointedness, when the werewolf's strange fire-scent invades my senses; I turn around while Seth still has his hand raised to tap me on the shoulder.

"Damn," he mutters, running long fingers through his hair. "Gotta get used to that."

"Expletive!" Renesmee cries suddenly; all attention is on her as she lunges over the board to pat my hand. In my mind's eye there is an instant replay of our earlier conversation. "Seth, that was an _expletive_," she announces, her voice solemn.

Seth blinks at her. "Um, yeah. It was."

"You know," I say, leaning toward Renesmee, "I hear that those are quite rude."

Her brown eyes light up. "And crude. And socially unacceptable!" she yells, apparently not able to help herself. Our audience chuckles in unison and she claps a hand over her mouth, appearing utterly mortified. A strange feeling to see on such a young face. Mrs. Cullen laughs, and the sound is so bright it almost shines.

"No need to shout, sweetie," she reminds her granddaughter gently. Renesmee nods in quick bursts, not making eye contact with anyone.

"Sorry," she mumbles.

There is a chorus of forgiveness as she turns to me, proclaiming it to be my turn again. Before I can arrange a word, her werewolf-friend Seth manages to actually draw my attention with a tap on my back. When I turn, it's to find him sprawled halfway over the couch to reach me.

"Hey, Nahuel, can I talk to you for a sec?" he asks, gaze squarely on the child. I take a moment to analyze the emotions present in his body language: apprehension; unsureness; urgency. I stand up while (or perhaps because) I am recalling, rather belatedly, that Seth is Leah's younger brother.

That cannot be a healthy nor a sane reason.

"Shall we finish later?" I propose to Renesmee, careful not to upset the game board as I join Seth on the opposite side of the sofa. She nods, settling herself into Mrs. Cullen's lap. The sight of it causes a feeling I do not wish to pay much attention to clench in my abdomen. _Atroz. _Awful. Being envious of a little girl is not acceptable. I should be very glad that she has such a family.

Seth tugs on my arm, indicating that we should leave. That boy does confuse me sometimes. Given the explanations of shape shifters I've heard from the Cullen's, he hardly counts as a proper one. He's so... _familiar _with everyone.

We enter the hallway where Seth pauses, tugging a small cellular phone from his pocket. I stare. "How do you not crush that tiny thing to pieces? I've seen your sister shove her Alpha so hard that he left a dent in the sofa." Seth laughs, and it is with a detached eye that I note how vulnerable he has made his neck by tilting his head back. Not that I would want to take advantage of that; the little redheaded vampire said late last night that werewolves taste quite ghastly. Of course, I am not inclined to believe this, considering that her next action was to stick her tongue out at Seth in mockery.

From the rounded corner of the staircase there's a sudden commotion, not unlike that of a small circus. By the time both Seth and I have turned to look for the cause of all the noise (and several, er, expletives), Seth hastily punching buttons on his telephone, Jacob Black has already sped halfway down the hall. With the appearance of one having just exited the shower, he talks with fluid rapidity to his younger pack mate while adopting, if you'll pardon the expression, a rather dog-like mannerism-- shaking his head repeatedly to dry his hair off.

"Jesus Christ," he says quietly, "Jesus fucking Christ, Seth, what the hell do you mean Embry called you?"

While I am content to lean against the wall and observe them, Seth's face flicks from irritation to exasperation. "I mean he picked up the phone at my house, typed in my cell number, waited while it rung, said 'Hello' when I picked up--"

"Don't be a smart-ass," Jacob snaps. Seeming to have sufficiently sponged the water from his hair, he begins heading with very clear purpose towards the main door. With a helpless sort of air Seth follows, using a slight hand motion to indicate that I should too. Along the way Jacob mutters to himself: "Runs in the family, shit, starting to give Leah a run for her money--"

To preclude thinking about the woman mentioned in his sentence, I begin to wonder if Jacob is aware that talking to oneself is a sign of schizophrenia and general insanity.

Like a strange form of Follow-the-Leader, Jacob leads Seth and I on to the porch, slamming the front door behind him with force probably much greater than needed. Obviously sure that this is as far as we will be going, Seth sinks down onto one of the wooden swings attached to the small awning. I follow suit, deciding not to comment on anything in the talking-to-oneself vein, and silently observe the Alpha take Seth's telephone from his hand, stabbing at the plastic exterior.

"He doesn't believe me," Seth mutters, crossing his arms over his chest. "Why the hell would I lie?" he complains loudly. "You don't have to freaking _log _every one of my calls, Jake, it'll say right there in the history--"

I wince when Seth is cut off by the telephone making contact with his forehead. "Was that necessary?" he grumbles, but does not retaliate.

"Yes." Jacob seems to have simmered his temper, a reaction stemmed from the truth of his pack mate's words. He turns to me. "Where's Nessie?"

"In the sitting room. We were playing _Scrabble._ Is there any particular reason that I am out here watching you two argue incessantly? And--" I pause, searching for the correct phrase. None comes readily to mind. "And, where is Leah?"

They exchange a brief glance that vampire-eyesight helps me to catch. Jacob hoists himself onto the porch railing, directly opposite Seth and I. "She's home," Jacob says shortly. "With Embry." Seth's head bobs in agreement.

"Did you not just say that this Embry contacted Seth? Then there must be a chance that this call had something to do with Leah."

Both men stare at me. "Well," Seth ventures, rocking the swing. "Kinda."

"And?"

He looks to Jacob, the expression on his face pleading. Folding remarkably easily, Jacob takes over, hesitant: "She's... sad. Ish," he tells me.

Sad? "Why is she sad?" I ask incredulously. She seemed perfectly content when I left her at the stairs after our walk-- but then again, that had been yesterday morning, and many things can change in the course of one day. And if she was upset, why had someone not gone to see to her? Ridiculous. I announce this to Jacob and Seth.

"Nahuel," Jacob starts, and then falters. "Um, see, she's kind of freaked out..."

These infernal pauses. He's beginning to remind me a bit of Aunt Huilen; she can never simply say whatever is on her mind. I've spent most of my life playing Twenty Questions with her. "Yes, I gathered. Please go on."

"It's 'cause you eat people, man!" Seth finally bursts out, one big explosion of words followed by a monumentally chagrined expression.

"Seth!"

"Well, _you _wouldn't say it!"

"You don't just blurt things out like that! _God_."

"It's the truth!"

"She's _what?_" I interrupt. This is most definitely _not_ the time for an escalated argument to occur, given recent information passed down to me. "It is-- wait a moment, I don't _eat _people, that is the act of cannibalism. The correct verb is _drink._"

Jacob rolls his eyes; it cause a flash of very irrational irritation to hit me_. His grandfather was still a child as I reached my first century_, I think to myself, not without some degree of unneeded malice. Plowing on, I ignore his insolence and address Seth: "It upsets her that I drink from humans?"

He fidgets with his hands, tapping them loudly on the wood armrest. "Uh, sort of, yeah. I mean, dude, the only reason we didn't kill the Cullen's is 'cause they ate-- _drank _animals," he corrects himself. "And Nessie's the only reason all these other human-eaters are here, so Jake says it's allowed. But yeah. We're kind of supposed to... want to, sorta... kill you and stuff."

The last words are mumbled, barely discernible to even my ears, but when I do realize what he's just said it sends a shock of cold straight through my stomach. "Kill me?" I repeat carefully, leaning forward, towards Jacob, who is busy looking anywhere else besides me.

"That's... that's the gut reaction, yeah."

"All right." I run my fingers along the wood slats. "It makes her upset, so I won't do it anymore." Though, privately, I'm not entirely sure why it's an upsetting sort of thing. It's what we do; it's what Aunt Huilen taught me to do. The Cullen's are the ones going against the grain, here. But I have tasted animal, and it isn't so awfully horrible... I can get used to it.

Hopefully.

Jacob's eyes widen with badly concealed surprise. "That was quick. And weird."

I shift my shoulders up and down. "Not really. It is simple cause and effect. If the cause is my drinking from humans, and the effect is Leah becoming saddened and upset, then the benefits do not outweigh the consequences."

There is a moment of silence, before-- "How many times have you been in school, again?" demands Seth.

"I went to university once, for a few months. To set an example for my father so that he would allow my sister to go." Completing my explanation I turn back to Jacob, ignoring Seth's mutterings of _stupid, unnaturally smart half-vampire. _"Are you going to the Clearwater's home, now?"

"Sure you aren't Edward?" Jacob grunts, hopping off the porch railing and landing gracefully on his feet. "Yeah. To see about Leah. And Seth," he says suddenly, "Sam's been annoying the shit out of me to have a meeting with the Elders again, so we have to go around Quil and that other little kid's house, 'kay? I'm so don't feel like dealing with him today."

"On it!" Seth yells cheerfully; then furrows his brow. "Can we go now? I wanna see how Leah is."

Jacob's answer is a sigh. "Sure, kid. Let rock n' roll before she eats Embry."

They move in smooth unison, Seth hopping up from the swing, Jacob taking one large pace towards the stairs that descend into the grass. Uncomfortable again, I stand. Is there a polite way to express my desire to join them?

"Yo!" Pointlessly, Seth waves his arm up at me, having already fairly bounced down to the ground, slipping his telephone into his pocket as he went. "Hey. Just so you know, Nessie's allowed to come into La Push-- since she's Jake's imprint and all."

"Seth!" Jacob yells, every part of him screaming impatience as he hovers several feet away.

"Shut up, I'm coming!" He glances back, winks at me. "Nessie can come over there. Just, y'know, for the record."

"Kid, if you don't hurry your ass up--"

I turn around for the sake of politeness to avoid the sight of Seth stripping off his clothing as he jogs over to join his Alpha. There is the flurry of string wrapping around ankles, a short, annoyed argument, and finally a change in the air's scent that is followed by growls. They've phased.

_Nessie's allowed to come into La Push-- since she's Jake's imprint and all._

Thankfully, the ability to use logic is something that has not escaped me.

_If one half-vampire imprint can come, so can another one._

I tick of exactly seven minutes in my mind, not moving from the spot until the last second is up.

There. If I go slowly enough, Leah has approximately ten minutes alone with her Alpha and brother.

Giving the early-afternoon sky one last glance to check the time, I start to run.


	9. Chapter 9

* * *

"Leah," Sam says slowly, stepping inside the house, Seth hurrying in after him. The door swings shut behind them, almost comically sluggish. "Is there… something you want to talk about?"

Shit, shit, shit. Way to go, mouth, way to fuckin' go. "Uh, no, not really," I tell him, backing up on instinct, like he's going to attack me. "Nope, nothing at all. So, you should probably go now."

"You— imprinted?" He says it like he really can't believe it, with the same kind of tone you would use to say, _"Britney Spears is a virgin?"_ Like the fact is going against every truth in the world as you know it.

Oh well. I can't exactly lie now. "Yeah, actually, I did." I step towards Jacob, one tiny step, and from the look on his face it's pretty obvious he's never going to let that go. Whatever, he's the Alpha, I'm not, so he should protect me and shit.

"…Imprinted?"

I thought we had clarified this already? God, what kind of drugs does Emily put in those damn muffins? "Yes, Sam, imprinted," I repeat impatiently. "You know, that thing where you become mystically bound to another person?" I pause; he doesn't say anything. Nobody does. I go in for the kill. "Remember that time you imprinted? On my _best friend?_"

There's a collective wince, mostly from Sam. Aha. I think I won that one.

Except then he recovers. "On _who?_" Sam demands, and I swear, it's like his voice takes up all the air in the house. Suddenly, and sort of ridiculously, I contemplate answering, _on your cousin. _Sake of irony and all.

"Why should I tell you?" I ask instead, folding my arms over my chest. Jacob snorts quietly, but I glare at him; I have every right to be as childish as I want right now.

Sam falters. "Because it's _important_," he answers, conviction in his voice.

"Why?"

"Because—" He breaks off, trying very hard to make it look like he's not busy thinking of a reply. Embry snickers in the background. "You're being intentionally difficult, Leah!" he finally says, scowling. He looks like a pissed off chimpanzee.

"Hell yeah I am. What're you gonna do about it? Oh, that's right, _nothing. _Because you aren't my Alpha any more!" I resist the urge to add, _so suck on that. _

Sam looks absolutely, positively _frustrated. _He turns to Jake, indicating me with one hand. Oh God, what now? "Jacob, could you please _do something?_" he asks.

Jacob smirks. "Actually, I'm sort of enjoying this."

I beam. "Thank you!"

"Yeah, it sort of like soap opera without having to pay for the cable," Embry pipes up from the other side of me. Seth stares at him.

"Dude, you watch soap operas?"

"My mom went through a _General Hospital _phase when I was ten," he explains, only coloring slightly. "This is the kind of stuff they would show in the finale."

There's an '_ah' _from everyone in the room. Well, except for Sam, who appears to be maybe three minutes away from fuming. I roll my eyes at him.

"Leah, I need to know _who,_" he tries again, with his forced-patient tone. Does he now?

"You know, I really don't think you do."

"It's important."

"And this is inane!"

"You're being ridiculous, Lee-Lee!"

"Don't call me that!" I shriek, possibly bursting Jacob's eardrums. I see Seth cringe out of the corner of my eye and make a '_what could I do?' _face at him to apologize. "You don't have any right," I say evenly, my voice made out of steel and metal. "No fucking right. Don't call me that. Ever."

Sam has enough grace to look ashamed. "I won't." Ha. I win. "But I still need to know who he is," he continues, effectively ruining my win.

"What makes you so sure it's a 'he'?"

Sam, Embry, and Seth all choke in unison— Jacob and I cackle. Good to know at least one other person can take a joke.

"She's _kidding,_ Sam," Jacob clarifies, coughing out his laughter. "But holy shit, that would have been hilarious…"

"And hot," Embry mutters, but is forced to stop when I slam my fist into his skull. Whoops.

Seth is the one who breaks it all up. Killjoy. "Why don't you just tell him, sis? He's gonna find out anyway," he points out, way too reasonably for such a young kid. When did he become the more mature sibling?

Oh, right. When he was born.

"But that's no fun," I grumble, to myself more than to Seth. Because, actually, he's sort of right. Not that I would ever admit it. "And I have to do it dramatically!"

Jacob stares at me. "What the hell for?"

I shrug, glancing at Sam, the tips of whose ears have gone red. It certainly was dramatic to walk in on him and Emily making out— too bad he never realized that I was going to be able to pay him back one of these days (even though why he cares to freaking much is beyond me). I grin slowly, teeth slipping over my bottom lip. "I know! We can do a guessing game."

"Lee— Leah," Sam protests edgily. Ooh, nice save there. "Stop being so immature and _tell_ me!"

"You didn't!" I snap. "Stop being such a hypocrite, Sam! You didn't tell _me _that it was _my _cousin you were after for _three months, _and even then I had to catch you guys sucking face before I knew! Now it's your turn to guess. Get over it. Karma's a bitch."

There's a long, eerie silence, the kind that makes you feel like just breathing is too loud. And then, in true Jacob style, our fearless leader starts to clap.

"That was excellent."

"I thought it was. Thank you, thank you." Because I'm just that ridiculous (_ridículo_), I bow dramatically. Sam rolls his eyes. I try not to kick him in the nuts. Seth yells from the other side of the room:

"Lee-uh! Leah, can I give Sam a hint?"

He's actually bouncing on the balls of his overly-energetic feet. I put my hands on my hips and nod, biting back a smile. Boy needs to take a shot of Ny-Quil just to calm him down. Seth looks over to Sam, who is busy glancing around and being very obvious about how stupid his thinks this all is.

_Nahuel would never do that_, I think instinctively— love and disgust battling it out right afterwards. I groan as quietly as I possibly can. We can deal with the whole… with the _issue_ later, because I don't even want to think about Sam's face if he finds out how much what my imprint… _eats, _freaks me out. No fucking way.

"Okay!" Seth announces, bounding back over to me. He taps Jacob on the head. "First hint: think about Jake."

Oh God. "You imprinted on _Jacob?_" Sam yelps.

"NO!" we both shout, probably a little more vehemently than necessary. "No, definitely _not,_" I clarify, glaring at Seth. "That was a really suckish hint."

"You're suckish," Seth mutters, glancing at the door. I rub his hair so that it sticks straight up.

"Waitin' for your girlfriend, Sethy?" I mock. Yeah right. Kid's pretty much terrified of dating anyone in case he ends up imprinting on their friend or their sister or their mom or something. Poor thing. He needs a lady.

Seth frowns and tries to force his hair back down. "Noooo. But I wanna get it if somebody knocks, 'kay?" he adds suddenly. "Okay?"

"Way to be subtle," Jacob mumbles. I narrow my eyes at them.

"What?"

"Nothing," they chorus. Embry clamps a hand over his mouth. Sam sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose.

"Okay, you all suck ass at hiding things from me."

"We aren't!" Seth objects.

"Right. Then why—"

"Next hint!" he yells, effectively cutting me off. I glower, stomping on the edge of Jake's foot when he giggles. The fuck was that all about? I'm about to ask when Seth says hurriedly to Sam, "Okay, now think about plants!"

Embry, Jacob and I all stare at him. "Dude, what the hell?" Embry shakes his head, not making the connection. None of us do, apparently, especially not Sam— who has so far been told that my imprint has something to do with Jacob Black and botany.

"You _know,_" Seth enunciates, seemingly impatient with us idiot's lack of understanding. Oh sorry, fantastically intelligent brother o' mine, that I don't know what _plants _have to do with _the love of my life. _"Plants grow _really fast,_" he whispers, hopefully so Sam won't catch it.

"Because that's _everyone's _first thought about plants," I hiss back. "'Oh, plants?' 'Yeah, those bitches grow like the wind!' Man, you totally suck at hint-giving!"

"Well, then why don't you try!?

"Maybe I will!"

"Maybe you should!"

"Or you could just _answer me,_" Sam growls. "That would be nice."

"I'm not nice," I remind him blithely. "Let's see, hint, hint, hint… okay, I got it!" Ooh, I am so brilliant. "Think about… the radius of a circle!"

This time, instead of the dead silence that Seth got, Embry actually laughs. "Oh, I get it! Radius, circumference, halves…"

"You are such a math geek," Jacob tells him.

"Just because I paid attention instead of thinking about how hot Mrs. Pike was—"

"I did not come here to discuss the physical appeal of our high school math teacher!" Sam snaps, cutting them both off. He rounds on Jacob, glaring enough to shoot lasers. "You, plants, and the radius of a circle! Can you _not _just come right out and say who Leah imprinted on!?"

"Pot, kettle," Seth mumbles, but before Sam can answer with something totally rude and force me to smack him down, somebody knocks on the door.

There's a split second where, I swear, it feels like they're all looking everywhere _but _me. I'm about to ask (or, y'know, demand) "dude, what the fuck is this all about?" –except Seth springs into his usual bouncy action, almost _screeching _at Sam, whose hand is about three inches from the doorknob (bastard should not be answering _our _door, anyway. Asshole): "_I'll get it!_"

"I bet you will," I mumble, crossing my arms; Jake attempts to cover his laugh with an entirely unconvincing cough. There's a split-second of quiet.

Sam and I smell him at the same time.

Me, of course, because it's become the most potent and incredible scent in the entire world— warm sugar and damp leaves and honeysuckle and nectarines. Sam, in contrast, because it's so unbelievably _foreign_— and Sam is only used to either burning sweetness or woodsy fire, not this weird insane mix between the two with the distinct addition of blood lying beneath it all.

So our reactions were understandably different. Without even seeing Nahuel, just knowing he's here, standing outside, makes me relax, every muscle in my body un-tensing. I can't even find the energy to get pissed at Jacob and Seth and Embry, who had to have called him down here, or at least told him to come— I can't be angry at all of them for interfering in my life. In fact, Nahuel being here right now is the best idea that anyone had ever had. I'll have to tell them about it later, let them know that even they have their moments of intelligence…

Sam, on the other hand, can only associate that base, sugary smell with one thing. The kid. Which explains why he positively _glares _at Jacob, even though he's the one who agreed the she could come to La Push in the first place, and then, as soon as Seth flings open the front door and pushes open the screened one, says loudly, "Could you _please _go back home? Now is not a good time."

_Oh, _I have time to think, _not a great choice of words, Sammy boy. _And then Seth grabs Nahuel's arm and drags him inside, and he is once again the center of everything.

Like a puzzle piece being repeatedly shoved into the wrong space, I haven't felt completely comfortable until we're side by side again. It's like sliding into place, a place where I _fit. _I take one big breath, and somehow the next words that come out of my mouth are: "So, this is my imprint."

I can actually _see _Sam's eyes widen, a perfect recreation of one of those old cartoons. I wouldn't know for _sure, _I guess, since I'm too busy staring at Nahuel. Who is alternating between staring back at me and glancing around the house, obviously fascinated by everything he sees— especially the line of picture frames on top of the TV.

"Oh, whatever," I say, my smile absolutely _spilling _from me. "Go look at them. You know you want to."

"Leah looks really stupid in the one on the left," Seth pipes up, completely unhelpfully.

"Shut up, I do not." Stupid Mom and her obsession with poofy dresses. I probably _do_ look like an idiot.

Seth sticks his tongue out at me ("Wow, mature— what's next, blowing raspberries?"), and curls his fingers together to get Nahuel to come over to the pictures with him. He does, and when he walks by me he brushes over the length of my arm with his fingers, just barely stroking my hand at the end. It's enough to make me bite my lip and pretend that I'm _not_ ridiculously happy. And he hasn't even _said _anything yet.

…Sam has to ruin it.

But like _that's_ new.

"_That?_" he chokes, but I have to ask him to repeat it since I'm busy watching Nahuel watch Seth explain all the pictures. "Leah, you imprinted on— on _that?_"

"Hey, watch your pronouns," Jacob snaps, because if Sam thinks of Nahuel that way then he must think of the kid that way, too. Way to bring his own problems into my own.

"He has a name," I remind Sam conversationally, glancing over at him to make sure this entire talk-about-him-without-actually-including-him isn't irritating; but he and Seth are just quietly chatting about pictures. "Nahuel."

Sam breathes in sharply through his nose. "Fine. Whatever. Him. Leah, you have _got _to be kidding me."

"Yeah, we get that a lot," I mutter.

"Seriously," Jacob agrees.

Sam appears to be struggling for words. Awesome, I've reduced him to silence! Go me. He finally manages to settle on, simply, "You _can't._"

I stare at him, disbelief stamped on my face. "Um, I sort of did. Imprinting. Been there, done that, crocheted a decorative pillow. Too late."

"Lee-L— shit, _Leah, _he's a _monster!"_

"Who happens to be on the opposite side of the room and have perfectly good hearing," Nahuel comments, his voice breaking through the waterfall of our conversation. We all stop and turn to him, instinctive reaction. "That was a very rude thing to say," he continues unconcernedly, totally unaware that he has just called Sam out on his crap and _nobody _calls Sam out on his crap.

Except my imprint, apparently.

"I don't care," Sam growls, and I swear to God I think he's about to stamp his foot.

Nahuel tilts his head, studying. "That's poor manners. I haven't been unpleasant to you."

"Yet." The word is ground out from clenched teeth, irritated.

"You assume I'm going to be?"

"_Yes,_" Sam hisses, like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"Why?"

I'm almost forced to bite down on my own hand to stop from shouting, _Oh, burn! _Embry actually gets out the 'oh!' before realizing how inappropriate that would be and clamping his mouth shut. We're all watching them, Sam and Nahuel, and I notice that Seth and Jacob have stepped to the side, so they are almost perfectly across from one another. _So much like a lame sitcom, _I think, my eyes going back and forth and lingering naturally on the lighter, more gently posed man next to the TV.

Sam seems completely lost for words. Except for the time back when we split packs, nobody's challenged him, and nobody has _ever _challenged him for _me. _

"Because," he finally gets out, hands balling into fists, "you're half _leech._"

A smile flickers over Nahuel's face. "Excellent observation. But don't you think that's rather prejudiced of you?"

Sam's face briefly reminds me of a gaping fish. "_Prejudiced? _What the hell are you talking about?" he demands.

"Well, 'prejudice' is defined as an opinion or judgment created with little or no background information to support it," he recites easily, as if he had a dictionary on hand to quote from. "And you assume that because of the fact that my father is a vampire, I am going to take a rude attitude towards you. That," he finishes, "is prejudiced."

We're _all _gawking at him by now; Embry looks like he's in danger of swallowing a fly. Jacob could be a model for Edvard Munch's _The Scream_. Sam even steps backward, like the force of Nahuel's words hit him square in the chest.

"I— that's not even— _Leah,_" he splutters, turning to me, desperate for backup he realizes at the very last second he isn't going to get.

I shrug. "Well, he's _right_," I say, in that special tone I reserve for _damn-that-was-so-obvious _sentences.

And Jake yells, "Right on!" and Seth cheers and Embry gives in and shouts, "You got _burned!_"

And Sam leaves. Just like that.

* * *

"No more humans."

"No more humans," Nahuel repeats, still utterly patient even though he's answered me at least twenty times. "Would you like a written contract? Signed in blood, maybe?"

"Ha-freaking-ha," I mutter, sitting up on my knees, the mattress giving slightly under my weight. "Just… can you do that? Give it up?" I wonder, suddenly tentative. "Or is it, y'know, like crack?"

"I assume you mean the addictive narcotic?" he asks, looking up at me, his back against the foot of my bed. "Yes, I can. You've seen it done. At least I enjoy some human food," he adds, almost as an afterthought.

"Really?" I fall back into my earlier position, my back sufficiently stretched out— lying upside down, legs kicked across the comforter, my head even with his thigh.

"Mhm. Pig is good."

The pure unexpectedness of his answer makes me choke on my own laughter. "_Pig?_" I confirm, his hand trailing over my hair. "Like, pink, 'oink, oink' kind of pig?"

"As opposed to…?" Nahuel smiles, curving his fingers around the shell of my ear. "Yes, pig. It was more popular in the 1800's, I'm afraid… Very delicious."

"You do mean the actual pig, not its blood, right?" I ask suspiciously. _There's _a sentence I never thought I'd say. He nods, rolling his eyes.

"Yes, I do. Pig meat is quite appetizing, you know."

"I can't honestly say that I did."

"Unfortunate. You shall have to try it sometime."

"I'm not going to eat Wilbur!" I cry, the blood rushing suddenly to my head. I wince, rubbing at my temple.

"Who's Wilbur?" Nahuel asks curiously, taking over and pressing his palm against my forehead. I let myself slide down a little father until my hands are on the ground and then flip, doing a back roll off the bed and onto the softly carpeted floor in a crouch.

He raises his eyebrows at me. "Very impressive."

"I thought so," I answer pertly, sliding into the space between his legs. I'm sure we look incredibly odd, me lying on my stomach and perching my chin in my hands just to see his face, one of his hands back on my forehead. More like a cat than a dog, I turn and nuzzle into his palm.

Screw looking weird.

I drag myself up onto my knees again and lean much, much closer, so that the only place our mouths can go is over one another.


	10. Chapter 10

We slept together.

Wow, that didn't come out right. I mean, we were unconscious in the same bed for about eight hours. That kind of "slept together."

Though I would have been all over the other kind of "slept together." If you catch my drift.

_Yes, Leah, we catch your damn drift! Shut up already! _

_Make me,_ I challenge Quil, bumping my nose against his flank. _You're just pissed 'cause you missed all the drama yesterday._

He protests immediately, snapping at me: _Yeah right! I'd rather play Barbie's with Claire than listen to you drool over your demon-spawn-numero-uno imprint. _

_Not a demon spawn, _I remind him cheerfully.

Quil does the wolf-version of snorting, which involves a lot of snuffling and huffing and pawing at the ground. _That's what you call Renes-whatever. _

_Different. _

Except it's totally not.

_Hyp-o-crite! _Quil sings in his head.

_Whatever, pedo._

Aha. I always win with the "pedophile" jab. But this time Quil appears to be ready for it. _Yeah? Says the chick whose imprint is a hundred years old. Old man fetish, much?_

_He's a hundred and _fifty, I correct automatically, before realizing that this probably doesn't help my case much. _Okay, _so_ doesn't count. He looks like he's freakin' twenty. _

_Claire looks like she's four and she _is _four. _

I shake my head, tail swinging. _Which just means you got another twelve years to go before you even think about getting it on with Claire. I can get it on with Nahuel right now, _I boast, knocking my snout against his.

Quil shies away, tongue lolling out. Oh God, what's he so happy about?

_Isn't he supposed to be, like, venomous or something? So technically you could make out with him and he could kill you. _A short pause. _Just sayin'. _

_Dude, that's not even—_

Wait a minute.

Quil snickers in his head while I back peddle in my memories, examining the kiss from last night again (like I haven't already done it a million and one times; I swear, I feel like I'm thirteen). It was definitely strictly closed-mouth. Not that it wasn't insane and incredible and made me feel like I wanted to stay there forever—

_No offense Sis, but that's really, really TMI._

_Quiet, _I snap at Seth, who has just deigned to bound into the already-too-crowded clearing Quil and I are sharing. _Shit. He's got vamp poison, doesn't he?_

Seth lies down, stretched in a strip of sunshine that filters through the layers of trees, and looks at me with confusion. _Uh, yeah. You didn't know that? _

_Shit! _

Quil vaults over a rotting log, laughing hysterically in his wolfy-head. _Oh my God, Leah, you really know how to pick 'em. So what happens if he goes down on you? Will he burn off your—_

_DAMNIT, QUIL! _I screech, tensing all my muscles and springing on him. He yelps, trying to dislodge me, but I've got my claws dug in just enough so that he has to twist all the way around and nip sharply at my fur.

_Woah, what's got Leah got homicidal?_

_Life, _Seth answers Embry lazily, rolling over onto his back. Embry trots over, the clothes tied around his ankle dragging in the grass. The distraction gives Quil time to fling me away, tossing me onto the ground and hurrying over to stand behind Seth, who is still sprawled across his back, the obvious pinnacle of a protector.

_I'm very intimidating, _Seth protests.

_Sorry to burst your bubble, kid, _Embry says, baring his teeth to me in the wolf-equivalent of a grin. _We just hide behind you 'cause Leah would never kill you._

_Seriously maim, however…_

_Yeah, she would, _Seth agrees, but without any real conviction. _Remember that time I was like, six, and you tied me up with your jump rope? I had to hop around until Mom found me. _

_Wow, you were even kinky back then, Leah._

_Fuck off, Embryo. _I growl, stamping my paw in the grass, and turn back to Seth. _Dude, you didn't even fight. You were just like, "Ha ha, jump rope! Ha ha, Leah!" _

_I was not!_

_Both of you, _orders Jacob's voice idly, popping up in our heads as suddenly as a puff of smoke, _be quiet. Seth, don't be annoying just because your sister is the Anti-Christ. Leah, no tying people up._

_Damn. Now what am I supposed to do with my spare time? _

_Dude, why the hell are you late? _Embry asks Jacob. _You're the one who called this patrol in the first place. _

_I didn't mean to be! Nessie was showing me her new book and— crap! Ow… Give me a second. _

_One Mississippi, two Mississippi... _Quil sings.

There's a shuffling of trees to our left, and then a red-brown wolf bursts through, half-limping. _Fucking thorny plants, _Jacob swears, lifting his back paw off the ground to show off the admittedly rather huge thorn embedded there. He takes a few wavering steps and then, apparently deciding to go in for dramatics, keels over onto his side, doing that breathy, whimpering dog sigh. _Leah, come take it out. _

_With what, that handy pair of wolf-friendly tweezers I always carry around?_

_Don't be stupid. Use your teeth. _

…_Ew, _I complain, shaking my head at him. _Go make the kid do it. _

_Leah, _he whines, putting on his best feel-sorry-for-me-face. Yes, this is our esteemed Alpha; fear him. Or wave a thorn at him. _Don't be like that! C'mon, it' gonna heal soon and then I'll have to spend eternity with a thorn sealed into my foot!_

_And?_

He contemplates this for a moment. _And then I'll bug you for eternity because you wouldn't take it out._

_Just your presence is going to bug me for eternity. _

_Leah!  
_

Ugh. I pad over to Jacob, turning so that my tail hits him in the face. _Fine. Whatever. I'll put my mouth all over your nasty, God-only-knows-where-its-been foot, you big baby._

Far from looking ashamed, Jacob rolls over to show me his paw, sticking his long tongue out. _Thank you, Beta. _

_So, old man _and _foot fetish? _

_Quil, I'm going to take out this thorn and use it to stab you in the eye, _I think calmly, attempting to get a good grip on the thing with my teeth. _Your paw is wet. _

_I ran through a puddle. _

_R-i-i-i-i-ght. _

Huffing, I finally manage to tug the thorn out of Jake's stupid paw, clenching it in my mouth for a moment before spitting it back out at his snout. Gross. _Don't get into any more damn plants, _I warn, going back to Seth's side. Seth rolls over, bumping into my legs and scrabbling to his own feet.

_Why're we patrolling? I thought everybody was still here? _he asks, even as Jacob starts to silently line out the perimeter we should all take. I get the side of the river and the top edge of the woods— score. That means no brambles stuck to my fur.

_Those two Egyptian vamps are coming back, _Jacob informs us while we all take off it different directions, heading along our routes. _Amun and Kebi. Edward thinks the dude wants to apologize for leaving right before the battle. I don't really care, but they might be bringing some friends with them. _

_Friends who associate humans with meals-on-wheels? _Embry asks wearily.

Jacob mind-sighs. _Basically. So we need to look out for them. Make sure they aren't dangerous._

_Dude, they're bloodsuckers. I think they passed "dangerous" a long time ago, _I point out, slowing my pace a little when I spot the rocking blue waters of the river. Glancing up, I can see the sky looks patched together with grey clouds— it'll rain soon.

Quil's voice joins Jacob's in my head: _Way to talk, Leah, since you're probably gonna end up with one as an aunt-in-law. _

_If Huilen doesn't rip out her intestines first, _Jacob adds cheerfully. I grimace, even though they both can't see it. Huilen is pretty much the only reason I'm going to have to loiter around the Crypt after patrol. According to General Empath (or General Emotion-Fucker, I can't decide which I like more), who apparently felt the need to actually seek me out and tell me this in person, Nahuel managed to piss her the fuck off by staying at my house last night. She insisted they go hunting together, presumably so she could lay into him some more.

Great. More reason for my imprint's family to despise me, and the Cullen's also get a new episode of _Leah's Life of Suck!_

_She doesn't _despise _you, _Seth thinks, attempting to cheer me up. Shockingly enough, it doesn't work.

_Right. Which is why she's apparently under the impression my name is "That Woman."_

_She actually calls you that? _Embry wonders, traces of amusement in his voice. _What, is that kind of like "The Other Woman"?_

_No! I am not a mistress! _

Suffice to say, all I get after that is a lot of inner-humming and random strains of "I Feel Pretty", filled in with the occasional burst of "Candy Shop." I huff quietly, stewing to myself. It figures I live in the one place in the universe where the evolutionary system runs backwards.

* * *

You know, I'm starting to think that anyone else who _isn't _a supreme being with an incredible sense of smell (and really, in my life, those types of people are becoming ridiculously hard to come by) might find it just a tiny bit odd how interchangeable all of our clothes are.

But, yeah, pretty much everyone I hang around with has super-nostrils or whatever. So it shouldn't come as such a shock when Nahuel shows up, _finally_, Huilen and her permanent hatred of me nowhere in sight, looks me up and down, crinkles his forehead, and announces, "You smell like Jacob and Seth and yourself all together, and it is rather perplexing."

I run a hand through my hair, hopefully dislodging several leaves. "This is Seth's shirt. And Jacob's pants," I explain. "And _wow _that sounds weird."

He smiles one of those slow, melting-onto-his-face smiles, and leans against the railing of the Crypt's porch. "I wouldn't worry. It isn't much of a departure from your usual dialogue."

"Thanks. Call me weird while I'm wearing another guy's pants," I say, standing in front of him. He rolls his eyes, which makes me inexplicably, oddly, dementedly happy. Why? Hell if I know. Does it have to do with strange mystical creatures? Given my history, quite possibly.

"I very much doubt that you wearing Jacob's clothing indicates a secret sexual relationship," he informs me, quite seriously, while I struggle not to burst out laughing. "But do let me know if I'm wrong."

"Yes, you're number one on the list of people I would tell that I was screwing Jake." I attempt to say this as solemnly as possible, but it doesn't particularly work. Screwing Jake is just… ew. Not that he isn't a cool Alpha and the most-non-annoying-werewolf I know, but he's like, three years younger than I am. I can remember him being five and crying because I hit him— it would be hard to do somebody and not think about that _all the time._

"So!" Grabbing his hand so as to loftily spin myself in a pirouette, landing next to him against the porch railing, I take in his smell with one big breath of air. It's like a freaking drug, I swear. "Now that you mention things I'd rather not talk about… where'd your lovely aunt get to?"

The smirk he gives me is wry. "Either continuing on with her hunt or hurriedly devising plans for your immediate death. With Aunt Huilen, it is difficult to be sure."

My laugh sounds more like a harsh cough. I clear my throat, my elbows propped up on the wood of the banister. "Dude, no offense, but… she sort of creeps me out." I pause. "A lot."

"I live with her. I've spent my entire existence feeling that way."

I tilt my head to look at Nahuel, frowning, intuition making my move a millimeter closer, and then a millimeter more. "You don't like her?"

"Of course I do," he says pensively, before I can even start to feel bad for insinuating that he didn't. I can almost feel something in the air changing, all the teasing and snarky remarks vanishing into whatever void I've opened up by asking about Huilen. "She's just… difficult."

"Difficult how?"

I'm scared of how that question might be taken, how it could be seen as prying and rude and awful, so I lift up my hand and touch his arm. It's fleeting and it's soft and I _don't _feel like my hand has done it while detached from my body. This isn't imprinting making me touch him, try and comfort him. This is _me. _

Which, honestly, is a whole lot scarier.

Nahuel sighs, and, to his credit, doesn't mention the touching-of-the-arm. Or the fact that it's happened again, and this time my hand is staying right where it is. And it's… nice. For him not to get all weird and wondering about the sudden display of affection the way that all of the guys jump on me when I actually smile.

"Aunt Huilen… Aunt Huilen has many differing emotions concerning me," Nahuel says simply, as if I'll let it go there. Like that's all there is to it. My hand slides further down, down, until it's over his and then our palms are pressed together and then we're holding hands. And it's not that big of a deal, really.

"Like what?"

I wonder if it's just my imagination, but I think he may tighten his hold on my hand, just a little bit. Or maybe I'm distracted trying to decipher what his faint smile means, and why he shakes his head. "I'm the one who created her, _grilla. _She knows that she wouldn't be a vampire if it weren't for me."

"That's insane!" I explode, because when I'm _so sure _of something then I have to explode with it. It's just the way I am. "You were a _baby. _It wasn't your _fault._"

The smile on his face gets even fainter, a skeleton of a real smile. "That may be so."

"That _is _so."

"But it can't stop her from disliking me," he finishes, in a voice that's completely resigned to this. Completely resigned to the fact that his aunt doesn't even _love _him after they've spent a hundred fifty years together.

Either I'm getting worse at keeping my emotions to myself or it's some Imprinting Thing (which, yes, deserves capital letters), but Nahuel takes one look at my face and says, "Don't think that she has no feelings of love towards me. I'm sure that she does."

"But what about when you were little?" I press, running my thumb up and down his finger. "Still growing, I mean. She's never _told _you she loves you?"

Nahuel shrugs. "She was still mourning her sister back then. I wasn't particularly important, unless she took me to hunt." He pauses, a contemplative expression taking over his face. "And no, I can't say that she has. But perhaps my memory is faulty."

Bullshit. Jacob's told me a million times how the kid has perfect memory— perfect as any leech's. But I don't mention that. I can't. There is something _wrong _with that woman, I swear to God. Who raises a child whose mother is _dead _and never thinks to say that she loves him?

I take a deep breath, to control the ready-to-phase-shakes I'm sure I'll be having if I keep up with that train of thought. "Is that why you thought she'd be happy I imprinted on you? So that you could— stay? Here?" I ask carefully, remembering him mentioning something to that effect when we had our little rendezvous on the staircase a few days ago.

"I think," Nahuel muses quietly, looking up at the sky, "that as much as she may resent me… she is even more afraid of being alone."

I stare at him, face blank. "Couldn't she just go hang out with your dad? And your sisters?"

"Leah," he reminds me gently, "my father is the reason all of this came about. She doesn't spend any more time with him than necessary."

_Oh, _I think, _way to not catch the obvious, Clearwater. _And then the little word-association game starts in my head. His father. His mother. They had sex. Even though his dad was a bloodsucker. With venom. He has venom. _Venom. _Fuck.

I twist around so that I'm standing in front of Nahuel instead of beside him, without breaking our hands. "Hey," I start, leaning over so that I'm probably violating every personal space rule ever written, but I can't bring myself to care because it feels so nice. I shake my head, make myself focus. "Shit, I totally forgot, what about your—"

"_Qué estás haciendo con ella!"_

Of course.

Huilen positively _storms _across the yard, except with her super-vamp speed or whatever the effect is lessened with the all of one and a half seconds it takes for her to be standing _right there. _Her smell, so close up and so soon after she's hunted, is an unearthly _sweet,_ like choking on musty perfume, so biting that my eyes actually start to water. Through the _sea of tears _she's managed to give me, I can see how sharply her arms are crossed over her chest; the way her features are so vampire-perfect that even with rage being the dominating emotion on her face, hair an absolute tangled mess, and a streak of blood on her cheek, she still looks scarily beautiful. Like a fashion model/stay at home mom whose five kids are all sick/infamous serial killer.

Nahuel reaches over and wipes the blood off of her. "Hello, Aunt Huilen. Have you completed your hunt?"

"Of course I have!" she snaps, recoiling away. What a way to treat your nephew. She rubs furiously at her own cheek, blood smearing onto her wrist. "I _asked _you what you are doing with _her._"

"I know what you asked me," he answers, while I'm slipping back into my position beside him. "I do speak Spanish, if you recall…"

My snort is covered up by Huilen's almost derisive shriek of, "Don't use sarcasm with me!"

"I apologize." Except the look on his face says that he totally _doesn't. _

And then I realize that she's staring at our hands. Which we're still holding. Her tone drops so low that, if she were a wolf, I would classify it as a growl. "_Why. _Are you _so _attached. To. That. Woman."

I swear, I don't mean to say it. But sometimes this little fairy pops up in my brain with a sentence and whispers, _say it! It's a good idea! _So yes, magical brain-fairies are the only excuse I have for intruding on their conversation and wondering out loud, "Would you be really pissed if I just legally changed my name to That Woman? Or would you find something else general and vaguely insulting to call me?"

There's a moment of silence before a grin seeps onto Nahuel's face, even as he tries to cover it. Huilen's mouth falls open, purses shut, and her jaw clenches like she's grinding her teeth.

"I would suggest you not speak to me that way," she says stiffly, letting her arms fall to her sides, rod-straight and unbending. Her lips curve into an honest-to-God sneer when she hisses, "It would be _such _a shameif someone decided to _bite _your pretty _neck._"

"Did you just _threaten me?_"

Instinct makes me crouch low, ready to phase, ready to defend myself if she tries _anything. _The air feels amped up, electrified, and it's only a matter of time before both of us give in to the fact that we're natural enemies. Huilen crouches down too, showing her freakishly sharp teeth, and I think that's when Nahuel decides that he's had enough.

He pulls me up first, jerking me from my wolf-mode so quickly and piercingly that it takes me second, back pressed against the porch, to notice that he's done the same to his aunt, pulled her up like a puppeteer working a marionette.

"_Stop _it," he says, and it almost sounds like an Alpha command— there's _that_ much power in it. For the first time, I really think about what he would be like if he was angry, is he was actually raging _mad. _

He would be scary.

That realization uses up most of my brain power for at least a few more seconds, so that it takes longer than it should have for me to notice that Nahuel and Huilen are talking to each other— or, more accurately, fighting with each other. I only get half of it, because Nahuel is resolutely speaking English to Huilen's half-hysterical Spanish, and it makes something in my stomach tighten pleasantly; to know that even if it's pissing his aunt of even more, he wants to make sure I understand.

And, for the record, I do understand. I understand perfectly.

She. Does. Not. Like. Me. I get it. I got it three days ago, I got it three _minutes _ago, I _will _get it three years from now. Huilen does not like me. Whatever. I'm an old pro at people not liking me, and I don't dig her that much either. Why she seriously feels the need to _threaten _me is a mystery.

"That's completely ridiculous!" Nahuel says exasperatedly, a perfect response to my thoughts. I bite back a smile, resisting the urge to join their fight, to smack Huilen down a little— _this is not my problem, _I chant. Besides, I'd just end up making it worse. You know, because I so have that dazzling ability to keep my temper.

Huilen throws her hands up in the air, the sleeves of her shirt slipping down her arms. _"Tu padre no lo cree!" _she shouts, gnashing her teeth together, looking completely, undeniably _psycho. _The small smudge of blood still on her cheek doesn't help that image much.

Then I notice that Nahuel's frozen. Absolutely still, staring at his aunt, the words '_this is not true_' practically stamped across his face. Before I can take even one step forward, or just open my mouth to ask what's wrong, Huilen whips around to face me, strands of her hair catching in the wind and giving her an overall creepy effect.

I know that she says it in English just to spite me.

"I've called Joham," she declares, the glint in her red eyes making me want to phase then and there. "He's _very _interested in you, little wolf girl. And the _imprint._" The word sounds like a swear from her mouth, a disgusting disease. Which is exactly the way I used to say it— not that it exactly _rolls _off the tongue now.

Nahuel shakes his head, utterly unbelieving. "_Maldición. _Aunt Huilen, you _didn't._"

She curls her lip up, still looking at nothing but me. I can feel vague panic setting it, a domino toppled down with Nahuel's own shock. What the hell has she _done? _

"Your father will be arriving within the next three days," Huilen announces. Nobody moves. She hisses at me, turns, and walks away without another word.

* * *

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thank you to _everyone _that reviews this story. I'm blown away with the amount of people who enjoy reading it (because I was pretty sure it would drown in the depths of ;P). You all kick ass.

And!I think that, using Nahuel's follow-up comments, it's easy enough to discern what Huilen says (ahem… shrieks) in Spanish, but if you'd like to know for sure, these are rough translations:

"_Qué estás haciendo con ella!" _– "What are you doing with her?!"

"_Tu padre no lo cree!"_ – "Your father does not think so!"

Oh, and in the end there, Nahuel's "_Maldición"_ means "Goddammit." xD Apparently he's picked up on Leah's use of… expletives.

(EDIT: my Spanish _sucks. _Thanks to ari11990-- mistakes fixed!)

AND OKAY. I totally meant to talk about the venom this chapter, but Huilen decided to show up and go batshit insane. No, seriously. But this is actually the scene that first popped into my head when I thought about writing a Leah/Nahuel story, and… Joham coming has _a lot _to do with later plot. Which there is some of, I promise. Nahuel's dad just likes being a pimp and messing things up.

….And I think usage of the word "pimp" signifies that this AN has gone on long enough. :*


	11. Chapter 11

I'm sitting at the leech's kitchen table, eating breakfast.

Gag me.

Honestly though, I'm only here because Nahuel is. He's across from me, actually, quietly accepting whatever Esme Cullen hands him to eat. I wonder in the back of my mind if it's because he's wishing it were blood instead, but clamp down on that thought before it can grow. If that is what he's wishing, I really don't want to know. It sounds incredibly selfish and awful (wooh, me in a nutshell), but hey. It's in my genes to find that disgusting.

"Would you like another waffle, Leah?" Esme asks, leaning over the table so that her scent hits me in the face like a brick wall, rotting trash and centuries old perfume. I almost choke on my fork.

"No-- no, I'm good," I say, trying to be as subtle as I can about pushing _away_ from her. I've never been big on subtlety, of course, but you do what you have to. And she fed me without referring to me as "mutt," which is more than can be said for her other... children. I owe her just a little bit, for not being obvious about not liking me.

"All right then," she answers easily, turning back around. "What about you, Nahuel? Would you like anything else? Nessie really likes oranges, I could bring you some if you wanted. Or maybe a banana?"

Nahuel doesn't seem annoyed that she's trying to shove fruit down his throat. "No thank you," he says, mimicking the way I pushed my chair back and then standing up. I follow suit, naturally, a move easy as inhaling. We're that well-choreographed-- it's almost scary. "I think I'm going to attempt to speak with my aunt again," he tells us both. "Perhaps she has changed her mind."

_Fat chance. _I'm pretty sure Esme and I are both thinking that, albeit in different forms. Yeah, Huilen will have changed her mind when Sam abandons Emily to pursue his secret relationship with Jared.

The back door bangs open then, the Happy Super Family coming in through the same back door I ran out of after Renesmee's revelation about Nahuel's... feeding habits. My stomach flips uncomfortably. Not the best train of thought. Instead, I move to follow him into the hallway. Huilen's been in the huge-ass forest that surrounds the property since yesterday-- hasn't come inside once. I don't think that's such a big deal for her and Nahuel, of course, since I doubt the place and time period they come from is very advanced; they've probably spent more time in forests and woods than I have since I became a wolf.

Nahuel holds the front door open for me, which makes me roll my eyes and tug him outside in the same instant. "I'm coming with you this time. Where is she?" I ask briskly, wind whipping the hair in my eyes. He reaches out and brushes it back, not realizing, I think, that he's doing it.

"Somewhere near the river," he informs me. We start walking toward the edge of the trees, and from the corner of my eye I can see the curtains on the leech's window rising and then falling back into place-- and a flash of melted-caramel hair in the reflection. "Would you like to shift your form?"

"Phase," I remind him, already moving behind one of the larger tree trunks. "Mm-hm. Hold on a second."

It takes me more like half a minute to peel off my jeans and shirt, to tie them to my leg with the frayed string Jacob had given me, and to stand there letting heat ripple up and down my spine until I can feel myself falling forward not onto hands and knees, but onto paws. My fur falls into my eyes, but I ignore it-- the price I pay for wanting feminine hair again. I trot out from behind the tree, wondering vaguely about the benefits of a sun dress versus of an actual outfit.

Nahuel raises his eyebrows as I get closer to him. "You are not a wolf. You are a small horse."

I roll my eyes and bump his leg with my snout. _Shut up. _

"Shall I carry your clothing for you?"

The look I give him must sum up my feelings pretty well because he laughs, and it sounds like colored glass, like a gracefully shattering vase. "I take that as a no."

He can't hear me, but I keep up my internal answers anyway. _You should. _I give him a significant look before starting to walk-- even though I feel like I should be running, forcing my way through the trees. But it's nice, going slowly, even if Nahuel could have kept up with me if I ran. He keeps step beside me, walking in that smooth way he has, like he's gliding over porcelain, barely picking up his feet.

Both of us are quiet for awhile. Me out of necessity, because pretty much all I could do right now is growl and whine (not very attractive, I'm guessing), and Nahuel because he's paying attention to, I don't know, the pattern of the trees, the feel of the grass. Memorizing the way back to his aunt. Also, he's petting my fur. It's an ingrained reaction, I think, to pet any kind of dog walking beside you, but it used to tick me the hell off when the guys would do it if they phased back before me. Assholes. But he isn't doing it in a mocking way, not like they were. Just his hand on my back, it's easy enough for him to reach.

Nahuel breaks the silence, maybe ten minutes after we start walking. "I may have... neglected to mention something to you," he says, ducking beneath a branch that only skims my flank.

I tilt my head at him: _Oh, have you? _He doesn't make it sound horribly important, but then I'm not sure if he could make an alien invasion sound important. It's not in him. His hand comes away from me, drawing to his side again, and he nods.

"It's not terrible, which I suppose is what you're thinking. I haven't fathered any illegitimate children or failed to tell you that my father is part magical elf or something of the sort."

Just the suggestion makes me snort, glancing up at him to hopefully relay my thoughts. _Say it, would you? _

That glass-vase laugh again. "I should spit it out, shouldn't I?"

A wolfy grin spreads over my face, showing my teeth, I'm sure. Way to not be creepy. Nahuel reaches down to part a knotted, gnarled bush, the brambles not even making a mark on his skin. I hurry through, keeping my eyes on his.

"Well," he says pensively, when our walking is even and rhythmic again. "It only adds to the strangeness of why Aunt Huilen felt the need to summon my father... I was certain that would be the last thing on her mind, considering how he-- acts towards her."

My ear cocks automatically. _Wait, what? Does he beat her or something? I mean, I know he's an ass and everything..._

Nahuel gets what I'm thinking easily, fluidly. Another example of how we _work. _"No, he isn't bad to her. Not in the least," he adds under his breath, forgetting that even the wolves have amped up senses. I push my nose against his hand, asking him for an answer as best I can.

"Father--," he tries to explain, like he's busy searching for the right words in the endless dictionary he has stored in his mind. "Father wishes... well-- Leah, he wishes for Aunt Huilen to be his mate."

I stop in the middle of a bush. I'm _that _taken aback, I can't help it, I just _stop. _Nahuel must have expected that, since he nudges my back paw lightly with his foot as soon as I quit walking. I don't keep going, though, because all I can do is look up at him, completely shocked. _Dude, your family could be on Jerry Springer, I swear to _God. _That is _messed up.

"Tell me about it," Nahuel sighs quietly when I arch my eyebrow; I'm guessing the effect is lessened in wolf form, but whatever. He _gets _it. "You have to understand, of course," he continues, indicating that we should keep going, "that my father is very, very... charming. I was speaking with Edward about it last night, actually. He speculated on whether or not it could be my father's vampiric talent, much like Carlisle's compassion or Rosalie's-- vanity."

_Nice way of putting it. I would have gone with snobby conceitedness, _I remark in my head, barking out a laugh without thinking.

"You know what I mean," he chuckles, rolling his eyes. "That is not the point. He has many children because he can charm women easily. Aunt Huilen is the exception."

_Ah, _I think. _He likes a challenge. _

"She is one of the only women who has ever despised him thoroughly," Nahuel keeps explaining, pausing for half-second intervals to tug back a branch or to sniff the air softly, then nodding when he finds it-- to his liking? I'm not sure. But the has a definite idea of where he's going, and I don't, so I follow him. Hell, I'd follow him if he was stepping straight off a cliff. That's the entire definition of imprinting: they're going, so no matter where it is you're going too.

My tail swats his shin, bringing attention back to the story he's telling. "Mmm. Aunt Huilen does not find it enjoyable being in the same country as him. Why she would willingly call him here, even for a different reason than that..."

A tiny whine comes from my throat. _Maybe she hoped he would forget about it. Not mention the whole... mate thing, when he's got you and me to freak out over. _

"He wouldn't forget to speak with her about it," Nahuel muses, thoughtlessly answering my suggestion. "Father is very-- he's very specific about that." He pauses, and I notice his face twist in a grimace. "Disturbingly so. You should shift your form now," he tells me quietly. "We have almost arrived at our destination."

I lope behind the nearest, thickest tangle of brambly bushes. There are hardly any trees around anymore, and the gritty, fresh-water smell of the river is everywhere. My whole body shakes once, twice; I rear up on my hind legs with a practiced elegance so that with the third shake, I'm on my own two feet, completely naked. I untie the string from my leg so fast it snaps, and then shove it in the pocket of the jeans when I pull them on. I'm in such a hurry putting on my shirt that it's still bunched across my stomach when I force my way through the bushes, back to Nahuel.

He's waiting patiently, arms crossed. "That was very quick of you."

"I try."

Our arms loop together, like we're in some old movie where the girls are tied up in corsets and the guys talk in English accents. Except this is definitely not cheesy and romantic in any way. Nope.

"So," I ask, when he hops gracefully over a rotting log and then helps me over too. "What did you mean by 'disturbingly so'?"

Nahuel grimaces again. I don't think he even realizes he's doing it. "I simply meant that Father is, ah, not quite so... reserved as the general population is when it comes to... certain areas of conversation."

"Are you being annoyingly vague on purpose, or is that just a habit of yours?"

He grins, and I can see his sharply shining teeth. "I tend to do that."

"S'okay. What does your dad do to Huilen?"

"Mmm..." Nahuel fidgets, hands smoothing repeatedly over the shorts he's wearing. "I've said that he wishes for Aunt Huilen to be his mate, and when they are together... he is most unfortunately inclined to speak of-- their imagined intimacies. Very graphically." There's a pained sort of pause in his speech. "In loud tones. Whilst I am still in the room."

I almost run into a tree stump. Swerving away from it at the last minute with the help of Nahuel's arm guiding me, all I can manage is, "Holy shit. Are you fuckin' serious?"

"I wish that I was not. It is incredibly uncomfortable."

I stare at him, somehow forgetting that I have the ability to pick my jaw up off the floor. "It sounds effing _scarring._ Jesus Christ! She does punch him in the face, right?!"

His smile is absolutely infectious. "She did, once. I found it very humorous. My sisters, however, did not."

"Once? Dude, she almost jumped me because we were _holding hands. _Your dad _talks dirty_ to her and she punches him _once?_" The pure unfairness of it all is what makes me explode into laughter, until my eyes water, until my stomach starts to ache. Nahuel shakes his head, stopping in his tracks while I get in control of myself.

"She does try to control herself around my father," he allows, when I can stand up straight again. "It rarely works, of course, but she does try." I shoot him a look-- the nonverbal equivalent of _what the hell for? _"He controls the visits I get from my sisters. If Aunt Huilen angers him too badly, I am not permitted to see them."

"Really?" Nahuel nods. I roll my eyes, picking a wet, sticky leaf off my thigh. "She makes no sense, I swear to freakin' God," I complain. "First she doesn't like it because you changed her, then she sits there and gets verbally sexually assaulted so you can see your sisters, then she freaks out when we.. when I imprint, and doesn't want you to leave. What is _with _her?" A sudden thought occurs to me and makes me stop, putting my one free hand on my hip. "Can vampires be bipolar?!" I demand.

For someone who's only known me, what, a week and a half, Nahuel rolls with the crap that comes out of my mouth surprisingly well. "I'll look into that," he promises, in a tone that clearly says he has absolutely no intention of doing so. "And Aunt Huilen," he adds after a moment, tightening our arms together almost imperceptibly, "you can stop pretending you aren't right there, I can smell you perfectly well."

There's a rustle of tree leaves, done on purpose-- she could have moved silently if she wanted to.

"I was waiting for you to stop gossiping about me," Huilen's voice says tightly, nothing more than an echo to our left. With a quick sigh and roll of his eyes, Nahuel shows loud and clear that he's waiting for her to stop being childish and come out and face us.

She does. The first thing I notice is that, wow, her blue sun dress is oddly dirtless-- and that's when I realize she's ripped half of it clean _off_. And I do mean _clean, _there's one stray thread that lets me know it was once to her calves instead of skimming her knees. There's more blood on her face and it makes me think, ridiculously, of a jacked up lipstick model, something in the way the dried crimson frames her mouth. Hair knotted, the strands literally twisted together behind her head to form some semblance of a ponytail, freaky-deaky red eyes shooting lasers at Nahuel, and she still never manages to lose the _beauty. _

It is really, insanely unfair.

Huilen takes one, two, three steps forward, not walking, more like loping. "All right," she says, her words brisk and tied tight together. "Let us talk."

* * *

"She said no," I announce as soon as Nahuel leads me back to the Crypt, where the kid is hanging out the front door, apparently waiting for us. No point raising my voice any louder. They can hear me anyway. Renesmee scrambles back inside, the door slamming shut and then reopening in an instant, a redheaded leech hurrying onto the porch.

"Your pack mates are inside," she tells us, lifting the kid onto her tiny hip. I almost snort; she can't be more than sixteen. Way too young. "They want to talk to you both."

"Thank you, Maggie," Nahuel says softly, earning him a cheerful smile in response. Ugh. _So _too much like Seth. The leech, Maggie I guess, clasps her hand with the kid's and takes off toward the plastic swingset that's partially hidden on the side of the house. We walk inside, and this time the smell barely hits me. We've only been gone an hour, at most, and-- I'm getting used to it.

Freaky.

Jacob, Quil, Embry and Seth are all huddled together in the living room when Nahuel presses the door open for me. He hesitates outside for a second too long-- I drag him in with me. The boys are arguing, that much I get, but they stop the minute Nahuel and I step inside. Hand in hand.

"She said no," I repeat. "She won't call Joham back and tell him not to come. Nobody else has his number. We're screwed."

With that dramatic finish, I turn around to leave again. No point staying in the leech house longer than necessary, right? Besides, Seth said last night that he ran home to tell Mom about the rather insane events of the last few days, so I could probably smuggle Nahuel through the backdoor to meet her really quickly, without Sam's Leah senses going off.

Jacob cuts all of this short. "No, Leah. I... we've all got to talk to you," he says, standing up from the couch, one nervous look back at the others.

"...Yeah? You sound so dramatic," I snark, but it falls on dead ears. He _does _sound dramatic, weirdly so, because Jake isn't one to dramatize. Nahuel pats the back of my hand softly, comforting. Jacob heaves a sigh that looks like it makes his lungs burn.

"I talked to Sam, in wolf form, last night. He went to the Elders."

_Elders. _"So?" I ask, but there's already a cold weight, a dead weight, hovering just above my stomach. Nobody talks to the Elders unless it's important and it's _bad. _

And who else would Sam suddenly decide to talk to the Elders about but me?

"They've getting freaked out," Jacob admits. Seth stands up too, to come and stand on the other side of me. Nahuel on one, Seth on the other. Shit, what aren't they telling me? The cold dead weight drops a little, shoving my gut hard. I grit my teeth and push it back.

"Get to the point, Jacob."

"The half-breeds," he says quietly. "Two people imprinted on them so far."

"Excellent math skills, Alpha."

Nahuel laughs in my ear, but a smile only flickers across Jacob's face. "Yeah. You know Sam's theory, right? That we only imprint to carry on the line? And-- how the Elders agree with him?"

Shitshitshitshit. This is approaching my most sensitive subject _very _fast and for _no _apparent reason. Without fully realizing it, my knuckles go white around Nahuel's hand. Good thing it won't hurt him. "Get _on _with it," I order, and my voice comes out shrill. "Hurry _up._"

Quil and Embry are standing now, to-- what? Hold me down? Offer moral support? _What? _Jacob bites his lip; it makes him look so much younger than he actually is. "You remember that time me and you and Seth talked about you going to Carlisle? To... you know?"

_Bam. _The cold dead weight is officially crushing my intestines.

"Yesss," I mutter; I remember that conversation way, way too well. Both of them, the two wolves I really do care the most about as much as it pains me to admit it, trying to convince me to go to Dr. Sparkles and make... _make absolutely positively sure that you can't have kids. _

They really, really don't get it.

Yeah, so leech doctor'll tell me if I can-- but he'll also tell me if I _can't,_ and if I don't see him... if I don't see him, I still have that tiny, shredded, grimy piece of hope I've managed to hold on to. If I stop phasing, one day, maybe I could have kids. Maybe. But I'm not finding out one way or another until I truly have to.

Dammit, I'm not giving up my hope.

"You have to," Jacob says then, a mirror to my thoughts even though he doesn't mean to be. The implication anchors the weight in my stomach a little farther. I shrink back, not sure why, until I know it's because that presses me against Nahuel, who's still holding onto my hand, most likely trying to put all the pieces together and figure out what we're talking about. "I'm really sorry, honey," Jacob goes on, miserably.

But even the stupid term of endearment can't make me feel better. I know this script; I know what he's saying.

"The Elders want to know if the theory's right. They ruled it."

Dead weight.

"You have to find out, Leah. You have to go to Carlisle."


	12. Chapter 12

People are arguing. That's pretty much all I can tell at the moment, since my eyes are shut and will be staying that way for as long as I can swing it. Which, story of my life, does not seem to be much longer, considering that the arguing has now turned into full blown yelling-- the kind that shocks me right out of whatever sort-of-conscious state I've been hovering in, banging cymbals in my eardrums.

I open my tired mouth to try and yell "Hey!" in an irritated and also vaguely intimidating way, but cut myself off with a yawn that makes my jaw ache. Dammit. I try again, turning blindly onto my side. "Hey-- _shut _up!"

There's a blissful half-second of silence. Then: "Nice job, dumb ass, you woke her up!"

Someone else snaps back, "Yeah, real mature,_ Jacob_. what's next, calling me 'poopy head'?"

I know that last voice. Know it so well, in fact, that I groan and bury my face into the pillow, no mind to possible suffocation. Oh Jesus Christ, _why_ is Sam _in my house? _If I can bother to get up out of bed, there will be some serious ass-kicking going down. But as it stands, Jacob appears to have it fully under control, so thankfully I can stay here a little longer. Good. I might hurt my hand punching in his stupid nose and get his idiot-infected blood on me. Even though I am perfectly aware Sam has no chance of hearing me from here, I still answer his last annoyed remark with a mumbled, "Well, you _are._"

With, you know, my boundless maturity and so on.

I yawn again, rolling onto my back again. God, I'm tired. It can't be more than nine o' clock in the morning, and that says a lot-- even though I can't have fallen asleep before one this morning. I wince, my eyes screwed shut, not wanting to let in the light I'm sure is falling on my from my always-open window, because thoughts of this morning trail back to thoughts of last night and I really don't want to think about last night at all, never again if I can help it. But whenever you decide not to think about something, have you ever noticed how it's suddenly the only thing your mind can conjure up?

Yeah, well. I have.

It's all in disconnected images, hardly any chronological order imposed at all. My mom opening the door when Nahuel knocked, the way her face was lined in a way I'd never noticed before. Seth saying quietly that she was the only one on the council who opposed the decision but got completely out-voted, and me cracking some lame-ass joke about how I'd never hated democracy more. How Renesmee broke away from Jacob's side to rub my hand against her cheek, the bright flashes of images she gave me that I was too stunned to protest against or remember. My stomach clenches together hard, painfully, when I see Embry and Quil, forgotten in the rush of vampires spilling into the room, explaining to Nahuel. Explaining everything that I couldn't.

Explaining exactly how broken I am.

I shift in the bed, praying for relief from my roiling stomach, and only end up with the light of day spearing me straight in the eyes. I cry out softly, pressing the heels of my hands over my face. "Great," I murmur into the darkness. "Just fucking great."

A remark from the opposite side of the room takes me completely by surprise. "I personally don't see anything particularly great at the moment, but if expletives help to relieve your tension, then by all means..."

I've never understood how people can say someone _startled_-- it's an adjective, not a verb, right? Mmm, yeah, not so right. I _do _startle then, right up into a sitting position, with my eyes wide open. Nahuel stares back at me, sitting at my desk, his head inclined thoughtfully. Has he been here all night?

"Have you been here all night?" I ask dazedly. I'm not so much one to make much change between what I think and what I say, if you haven't noticed.

Nahuel confirms that he has with a nod of his head. "I did sleep for awhile, of course, when your mother was gracious enough to suggest I do so. I hope you do not mind the sharing of your bed."

"No," I tell him, still not completely recovered from the shock of him _being here_, not run back off to South America or hiding out at the vampire's house or whatever. "I'm... cool with that. So, um, how long have you been awake, exactly?"

"Four hours and twenty-three minutes," he answers promptly-- then smiles. "I am accustomed to awakening early. Also, you have very nice books with which I used to entertain myself before you woke."

All this information is a bit much to take. I fall back, the mattress wheezing when I do, and squint my eyes to avert the glare of sun. "At least you weren't being a creepy stalker and watching me as I slept," I say wearily. Nahuel shrugs, not moved from my desk chair.

"I was hopeful you wouldn't fall into a comatose state in your sleep, because if you did I would have been too distracted to do anything. I like your choice in novels," he repeats.

"Wow, thanks," I mutter, somehow able to dredge up a sarcastic response. "Great to know I take second place to _To Kill a Mockingbird _or _The Scarlet Letter _or whatever." Both of which I have, sadly enough. Sam used to tease the hell out of me for actually liking what they made us read in high school.

"I have read those already," he informs me (and why am I shocked at this?), then holds up a book I hadn't noticed was flipped face down on the desktop. His face turns sheepish as he explains, "These attracted my attention more. Aunt Huilen wouldn't let me read them when they first appeared in Guatemala."

I prop myself up on my elbows again to try and make out the title-- and immediately burst into laughter, toppling onto my back again. "You were reading _Harry Potter_?"

"It looked interesting," Nahuel defends himself, rolling his eyes at my hysterics. "My aunt was convinced they were devilish. She tends to distrust anything of extreme popularity. Mostly antibiotics and computers. But... I find them entertaining, if unrealistic."

"Wait," I manage to say, still giggling. "She doesn't _trust _medicine? What does she do, an ancient dance when you get sick? _Can _you even get sick?" I add after a moment, curious despite myself.

"Of course. I caught the influenza a very long time ago, when I was still growing." _Long _time ago. I doubt my great-grandmother was even an adult then. "The common cold, of course. Streptococcal pharyngitis, once."

"Strep throat," I correct, sitting up again, crossing my legs. "Say it normal."

Nahuel rolls his eyes, rises up from my desk chair. "I'm not normal," he reminds me, while he walks in that smooth-glass way he has over to the edge of my bed. He's taller than me when we're both standing, but now he absolutely towers-- I lean closer to him automatically, head against his ribs.

I can hear his heartbeat.

"Yeah, well. We've got that in common, right?" I say, trying to be funny, but it falls flat. Last night comes barreling into my head again, ramming my thoughts like a train going full-speed. Now it's only a matter of waiting for the rejection.

Something in me tries to fight, tries to point out that imprints can't be separated-- but I know better. Imprinting didn't work out for me once; why should it be any different this time, just because I'm the one who did it? Nobody wants a woman who's completely ruined. Nobody. After all, who can say I am one at all? Maybe my genes are screwed up and I'm a hermaphrodite on the inside, and that's why I phased in the first place.

"Is it possible," I ask, voice muffled against Nahuel's skin, "to be biologically hermaphrodital?"

I close my eyes so I don't have to see the expression on his face. _Why _should he have to deal with me? _Why_ should he have to answer these stupid questions?

Goddammit.

I was never this insecure before Sam and Emily.

"Why ever would you ask that?" His words have breaths of laughter in them and I slip my arms around his waist, pull him closer. It seems natural, this need to be close, but... what happens after I can't be, any more?

"Because I probably am," I say tonelessly, my eyelashes brushing his side. "I'm probably a fucking hermaphrodite since I'm such a _freak _already. You don't see any other girlie wolves, do you? Because there _aren't. _There _haven't _been." I realize, belatedly, that I'm picking up steam-- couldn't stop if I wanted to. Good thing I don't want to. "And I _don't _get my period and I _can't _have a baby but they're going to make me see _anyway_ and-- and just _leave _already, Christ! Hurry up and leave so everyone else can rub it in my face about how I can't even k-keep my imp-print..."

_Fuck fuck fuck FUCK, STOP IT!_

Except I can't. I'm already crying, for the first time in I don't even know _how _long. I'd thought, early on, back when phasing was still uncontrollable and Emily's scars were new, that the more I cried the less I would start to want to. Like I had an allotment of tears to use up, and then I'd be done-- I wouldn't need to cry anymore. But when I started I just couldn't _stop,_ not for hours, until I was worried I would get dehydrated from the lack of water in my body.

I try not to cry much, anymore.

_Trying _doesn't change the fact that I _am, _though, that I a_m _crying, not even alone, either, but with _Nahuel--_ the one I'msupposed to take care of, he's _my _imprint for Christ's sake. But it's like a tornado, a hurricane, a cyclone-- started and can't be stopped, all that energy built up and forced to be released. My tears must be like boiling water when they hit him, hotter than the rest of me, but he doesn't flinch away. Doesn't move at all except to knot his hands in my hair, smoothing through it over and over again. It's such an _easy _motion for him, like he's not even realizing it, that my sobs verge on hysterical for a moment.

I close up my throat, work to control myself. This is _so _not the time or the place, I can cry all I want _after _he's gone. I'll give myself a free fucking pass. Slowly, but as quick as I can manage, those sobs I was talking about turn into gentle hiccups; the tears stop running all over the skin of Nahuel's stomach. The silence of everything is thick enough to taste, permeating enough to bring attention to the way my breaths are more like pants, every intake a gasp. I've never been more _vulnerable, _and I fucking hate it.

His hands are still in my hair. They trail up again, higher, and then hook under my chin, pulling my face to look into his. I turn my head away before we even get close, feel my wet matted eyelashes rest heavily on the curves underneath my eyes. I look like crap, and I absolutely, positively do _not_ want to hear what he's got to say. Not a good combination. There's a shifting of weight, but he doesn't move away; I can see enough to tell that he's kneeling down, lessening the differences between our heights. Me on the bed, him on the floor, he pulls me so close that our foreheads touch. This silence is completely deafening.

"Why are you so sure," he murmurs, words fanning out over my lips, "that I am going to go away?"

The way my heart crashes is a throwback to watching stupid TV with Seth when he was little, a cartoon medical team putting paddles on someone's chest and-- _shock. _"Because," I start, and am suddenly very, very conscious of the damp lines over my cheeks. "Because I can't... because I'm... not..."

"Because you can't have children?" he supplies, words so soft, and says it like he's actually _surprised, _like he's never even thought about that fact for longer than a second.

I take one deep shaky breath. _Will not cry again, will not cry again. _"I'm not... you don't _get _it, okay? I'm _broken. _There's something _wrong _with me." Back to anger again, the best defense mechanism in the world, let me tell you. Nahuel keeps me where I am, hands over my temples.

"Having children is inconsequential, Leah dear. Do you really think I would desire them that desperately after seeing what my kind can do to their mothers?"

"...Seeing?" I mumble, our top lips brushing.

"I was there when Mary was born. I helped with Grace-- I delivered Norah." His tone turns wry. "If it is possible to deliver a baby such as that. You really think I would turn you away because you aren't able to risk your life for a fetus and acquire a taste for blood whilst with child?"

How he manages to make it sound so completely ridiculous, I'll never know. "You don't _get _it," I repeat, trying to make him understand. "It's not just that, it's... I'm not... I'm not _normal._"

"...Because you're speaking to the reigning king of normal?"

I admit, it makes me roll my eyes. Almost all traces of my stupid, pity-me crying session have all but disappeared-- I wouldn't be shocked if the tears actually evaporated off my face. What the hell is this? How can he do this, make me _smile _in the middle of a mental breakdown, when everyone else could barely get a bitter laugh out of me most days?

"Maybe we can just start a freaks-of-nature club," I sigh, and let my arms loop around his neck, come up on the back of his head. "We can hand out pamphlets."

"I'm sure you would be the perfect hostess at meetings," he tells me. Our eyelashes skim together.

"Yeah, with my blonde bob and pearl earrings, serving cookies. It's so me." The joke is weak and wavering, but its there. We're out of land-mine territory, for now. For now we can talk about stupid stuff and pretend that I wasn't just sobbing my eyes out. We can pretend.

"You would be lovely," Nahuel assures me, and before I can digest the compliment, we're kissing.

I swear it's like a movie kiss. Everything slows down, I can hear blood bursting underneath my skin. Is it the imprint, or is it just us?

My fingers knot in his hair, still done up in braids; his are on my back, my spine, and I feel like I'm moving underwater, dreamy and slow, while I uncross my legs to kneel on the bed the way Nahuel is still kneeling on the floor. It's good, it's _right, _maybe the only thing I've ever gotten right before. We rise together, still kissing, not wanting to stop, until he's finally standing and I'm as high up on my knees as I can be. Still with that heady weightlessness, I fit our lips together so that in opening mine, I push his open too.

_Isn't he supposed to be, like, venomous or something?_

I freeze.

Then I jump back, honestly, I _jump. _Land sprawled on my back but I don't care, holy _shit, _I almost got _poisoned. _Quil's words from two days ago start etching themselves in my brain, over and over, grinding a jackhammer down onto concrete. I manage to scramble back up again, into a somewhat normal sitting position, to Nahuel staring at me like I'm completely psychotic. Which I quite possibly am.

"Oh, _shit!_" I yell, because I'm just not good at keeping my emotions to myself. "We can't do that, I'm going to _die!_"

His response is much more eloquent than I would have predicted. "What," he asks incredulously, "are you babbling about?"

"I'm not babbling! Quil said, and Seth too, and shit! Shit!"

"Yes, I caught that part," he remarks dryly. "Anything else?"

I'm still straining away from him, why, I don't know. His venom won't fly through the air and down my throat. Hopefully. "Venom! You have _venom, _shit! See, now, Fate just delivered the bitch-slap to end all bitch-slaps, because I cannot _kiss_ my imprint without poisoning myself!" I shout, not completely over the shock of it. "Wolves _die _from leech venom, shit!"

"You're being very repetitive," he notes. "Leah dear, there is always the possibility of discussing this rationally. You do remember being rational, don't you?"

...Well. "Kind of," I concede grumpily, and start inching my way back over to him. Baby steps. "You seriously don't get it, we get bit, we _die, _end of story."

Nahuel tilts his head to the side. His eyebrows draw together and I take the opportunity to stand up on my knees again, level with his neck, even if we are still about three feet apart. Which just feels utterly unnatural, I'm sure no one _else _actually has to _fight_ being close to their imprint. Really.

"How long did it take for Isabella's transformation to be complete?" he asks suddenly. I stare.

"Um, three days. What the hell do you need to know about that for?"

"It is three days for all transformations, correct?"

"I guess so, I'm not a freaking vampire, how the fuck should I know?" I demand, pointless irritation welling up at him ignoring me. It all deflates, a balloon running out of air, when Nahuel smiles wryly. His teeth show, sharp pointed incisors.

"It took Aunt Huilen a week to change," he announces, like a grand conclusion, the end of a paragraph. "Therefore, my venom is not as potent as that of a normal vampire. Therefore, it will not kill you."

I want to believe it. I want to believe it so incredibly badly, just, y'know, so I can maul him again. That'd be nice. But I stay wary-- it's a demand of my profession. "Then what will it do, exactly?"

That's where Nahuel shrugs. "I am not certain. I suppose it could cause a degree of paralysis," he muses ("Way to make me feel better," I mumble), "but only for a short amount of time. If normal venom takes over the bloodstream when injected through a bite wound, and my venom takes even longer to do so, then for a shape shifter..." He pauses, obviously mulling it over. "Tell me, what is your body temperature?"

"Uh," I stumble, hardly hearing the question in my attempt to keep up with his mutterings. "One hundred eight, give or take. Why?"

He crosses his arms over his chest, bites his bottom lip. I should be doing that instead. Christ. "That would explain why you are all disease free. Intense heat burns up much bacteria. If shape shifter's die from vampire venom taking over their bodily functions before the strong heat can take effect--"

"--then if your venom goes slow, my body would burn it all up?" I guess, shooting upwards, a flower faced with sun. "Before it reached my heart?"

Nahuel nods, still brooding. "It would seem so. Of course, I do not wish to test this without proper medical--"

"No, it makes sense!" I cut him off, determined to get my ideas in. This is medicine, I know medicine, science was my best subject in high school. "Werewolves die from vampire venom because their heat can't burn it all up in time. So since your venom goes slower than regular venom, my freaky heat would have time to... poof! Burn it away." I wave my hands in the air for some kind of effect. "Right?"

"It would appear to be so," he agrees, uncrossing his arms. Is it my imagination, or are we getting closer again? "Though we should probably speak with Dr. Cullen about this theory before--"

"No, I think it's right!" I interrupt. Again. "I mean, really, it works."

"You cannot be sure of this," Nahuel points out doubtfully. "Obviously, my venom would not kill you, but it could cause some form of nerve damage--"

"We can find out," I decide. And I know exactly how. It might not be the safest plan, but hey, when have I ever been the safest person in the world? And besides, it won't kill me, so what the hell. Can't be that bad. So, in true Leah fashion, I wait for him to open his mouth to ask exactly how we can find out, then slide my finger over his teeth and put it back between my lips, suck, swallow.

"...It tastes really sweet," I inform him after a moment, finger still pressing against my top lip. "Weird."

Nahuel looks like he's in some form of catatonic shock. "Did you honestly just _do _that?!"

I nod. "Yup."

"What is _wrong _with you?!" he yelps, then pulls me closer and starts to examine every part of me he can see. "Do you feel dizzy at all? Difficulty breathing? Coldness?"

"Well, I think I feel a cold sore coming on," I allow, and flex my hands. "Seriously, I'm fine. Can't get the taste out of my mouth, though. Freaky."

That's when it starts.

It feels suddenly, abruptly, as if all of my blood is _fizzing,_ like a Coke that's been shaken up before you open it. I jump again, the top of my head bumping into Nahuel's chin, but I don't notice because this is _so effing weird. _I grab my arm, expecting to see it shaking, but... it's still. My whole body is still. The insides of me are what aren't, whatever parts of my organs or nerves that are burning up his venom, bubbling beneath my skin. _Christ. _

The whole thing stops just as quickly as it started. I realize my hands are clutching Nahuel's shoulders, his arms wrapped around my waist, trying to make sure I'm not going into seizures or something. The tiny explosions in my veins get softer and softer until they stop altogether-- until all that's left is the _bump bump _of my heart, almost perfectly aligned with the sound of Nahuel's. We're both silent for a moment, staring at each other.

"What the _hell _was that?" he asks after a beat, voice strained.

"That," I decide, "was fucking awesome."

He watches me warily; I pull us together so that our foreheads touch again. "What happened? Was it painful?"

"Nope," I say cheerfully. I'm not lying here, I swear-- it honestly wasn't. "It felt like fizzing. Like electric sparks, but small ones. It was _weird._"

"Weird in a bad way or weird in a good way?"

I think about that for a second. "Weird in a weird way."

To his credit, Nahuel seems to understand what that means. "We must go and speak with Dr. Cullen about this."

"Yeah," I agree, raising my arms so they're high on his neck again. "We should. But let's kiss some more first. I promise I won't die."

And I don't.

In fact, I'm so focused on _not _dying (which, y'know, is really just making out with Nahuel, pretty much), and those bursts of fizzy sparks just beneath my skin ever so often, that I don't realize someone is knocking on my door until they nearly break it down. Christ. Will we _ever _be able to do this in peace?

"Go away!" I yell, ignoring the continued pounds on the door and sealing our lips together again. Mmm.

"Leah, open your damn door!"

Ugh. Why the fuck is he bothering me? "Go visit Renes-whatever, Jacob, I'm _busy!_" Busy having my imprint kiss my neck, which I expect to be awkward and uncomfortable at first, but... it's not. In the least.

The knob starts to shake. "I'm gonna come in whether you like it or not, so stop having sex with Nahuel or whatever! I've got to talk to him!"

Nahuel starts to laugh against my neck, and I roll my eyes. So much for alone time. Right on cue, the door busrts open as promised, no mind to the flimsy little lock I have, and bangs into the opposite wall. Jacob Black likes to make an entrance. He's kind of like a drama queen that way.

Frowning at us, Jacob leans against the door frame. "Well, well, well..."

"Yes, can I can help you?" I sigh, unraveling my arms from around Nahuel's neck. He does the same, helping me to step off the bed without falling over. Fizzy blood takes a lot out of you.

"I hope you're using protection."

"Shut up!" I contemplate throwing my desk lamp at him, but decide it's not worth it. Bastard. "What do you want Nahuel for?"

"Touchy, touchy."

"Get to the point."

Jacob holds up his hands, a mock-surrender. "Sure, sure." He directs his next sentence at Nahuel, who is standing only slightly behind me, apparently not wanting to intrude. "There's some girls up at the Cullen's looking for you."

I turn to him, raising an eyebrow. "Let me guess: you forgot to tell me about that harem you have?" Nahuel rolls his eyes and hushes me; Jacob adds, "One of them said her name's Mary?"

Oh. _Oh. _

_Mary, Grace, and Norah. _

Nahuel's eyes widen as he steps forward, to Jacob. "My sisters are here?"

"They're your sisters? Shit," Jacob swears. "Is your dad here too?"

"Doubtful," he muses quietly, already moving towards the door. I follow on instinct, and Jake backs up, lets us through. "Of course, I forget-- he usually sends them ahead of time. I should have warned you all."

We move as a unit through the hallway, but Jacob forces us to pause right before the front door. His eyes flash. "They aren't dangerous, are they?" The word _Nessie _is embedded in the question, and I think Nahuel notices, because he shakes his head quickly.

"They aren't. They are perfectly civil."

"Oh... okay, cool." Jacob's face scrunches up together, suddenly uncomfortable. He glances uncertainly at his... arm? "'Cause, uh, one of them kinda... licked me."

I stare at him, then at Nahuel. And then crack up. "Um... she _licked _you? So, do you taste like chicken?" I cackle. He sticks his tongue out at me. Mature.

"Don't worry," Nahuel assures him blithely, turning the knob and stepping half-outside. It's sunny out, for once, and his skin almost... shimmers? "That's Grace. She does that a lot. You'll get used to it."

"I hope so!" Jacob yells, when both of us head to the edge of the street. "Because it's kind of awkward!"

I laugh again, giving a flimsy wave behind my back to Jake, and take Nahuel by the shoulder to steer him towards the trees. "Here," I announce, one foot on the path Seth and I have run so many times. "Let's race."


	13. Chapter 13

We stop racing when we hit the Cullen's woods, mostly because it's thicker, bramblier, and it takes half of my concentration not to fall straight into a fox hole and break my ankle. It'd set in a day or so, but still… ow.

I peek at Nahuel from the corner of my eye. Bad idea in the way of holes in the ground, but I can't exactly help it. He looks worried. Wow, huge shocker there— that's not the problem. The problem is that I have no idea how to make it better, and that is so far from good that they're both standing on separate continents. Possibly planets.

Humor soothes people, right? "So," I say, picking my way through a straggle of thorny bush that Nahuel passes through without blinking, his skin much too impenetrable for thorns to hurt. "Does your sister really lick people a lot? Is this some family thing? Do you need to lick me too?"

He rolls his eyes at me. Then, so quickly that I hardly notice the movement, leans over and scoops me up, over the thorns. Obviously, this leads to me being a little distracted (being held bridal style… awkward, much?), and have to force myself to pay attention to his answer: "Grace likes to lick people," Nahuel says simply.

Which, wow, makes _so _much sense.

He sets me down with much more gentleness than necessary. Brushing my arms off, because I really have nothing else to do, I raise an eyebrow as we keep walking. "That's a weird hobby."

"It's not a hobby," he tells me, brushing a fall log away so easily that I stare when I realize it has to be at least six feet both long and across. Goddamn. "Grace thinks of it as her special power, much like Renesmee's thought-showing." He smirks. "I disagree. We have been arguing about it for fifty years."

"Arguing about _what?_" I press. "The logistics of licking random strangers?"

"You are dangerously close to running into that tree," Nahuel points out, and grabs me by the crook of my elbow smoothly, turning me away. "And she does not lick randomly. Her taste buds are incredibly overdeveloped."

"….Is that an actual medical issue?"

Who has _mutant_ taste buds?

"Not exactly. To Grace, each person has a distinct taste," he explains. "Unfortunately, she tends to judge people insomuch as how they taste to her."

I stare at him. "She... tastes people?"

"Yes, this is what I said. I am quite certain it was not a lie." Laughing, he dodges the easy punch I throw at him.

"Is that how annoying I am when I'm sarcastic?" I muse, hopping clean over two bushes and, after only a second long hesitation, take the hand he offers to help me over a tree stump. "So, you're pretty much saying that Grace licks people to see if she likes them?"

Nahuel nods. "Yes, that is correct."

"Dude," I sigh, "that's so weird."

"My sisters are, in general."

Before I can reply, there's a sudden, choking scent that makes my throat burn. Fabulous. "We're almost there," I note, making a face. "Ugh." I glance up at him. "Do your sisters smell the same as you?"

"I wasn't aware I had my own scent." Off in the distance, there's a clap of thunder— clouds have started hovering over us, and the shimmering of his skin is barley there anymore.

"You do," I tell him assuredly. "Can you smell them from here, like I can smell the vamps?"

"I suppose I can," Nahuel says slowly, looking vaguely surprised. "Strange."

I watch him for a moment, intending to ask the question that just popped into my brain (I get a lot of those kinds of questions around him— his family is so _complicated_), but, unfortunately, the whole 'watching' thing spirals out of control. It's not like I'm completely mooning over his beauty or whatever, just… the way he moves. He's graceful, incredibly, amazingly graceful, and I realize that the only time he's like that is when we're out in the woods. This is the kind of graceful that takes a lifetime of living outside and in the middle of nature to create.

He pauses in the act of pushing back a collection of leafy branches, watching me right back. "Did you wish to say something, _grilla_?"

"Um," I answer, with my endless supply of eloquence. "…I guess, yeah. Do your sisters know about the— imprint? About the fact that we're…" I stop there, considering. What? We're what? Dating? Somehow that waters down eternal love and devotion. In love? No, we aren't in love yet.

…Are we?

Woah. I stare blankly at Nahuel, even as he tugs me into the first clearing we've passed so far, looking just as confused as I feel. Imprinting's all about love, I reason with myself. _Endless _love. _Devoted _love. _Forever _love. So of course it should follow that I… you _know_. Love… him.

Do I?

I _like _him. _So _much, it's not even funny— infatuation, maybe? But infatuation _goes away,_ and this won't. Imprinting won't go away, not ever, I would be the one to know. Is the love something that has to… develop?

_It didn't have to develop every other time, _I remind myself, and am only a little surprised when I reach out and take Nahuel's hand. Natural. But since when is a she-wolf and a half-vampire just like _every other time?_

"Christ," I mutter. "I'm giving myself a headache."

"All right, then," is Nahuel's bemused answer. He pushes me gently ahead. "And to respond to your inquiry, I have no idea if the girls know about what has occurred between you and I." How is he so much more articulate than me? "I think they have noticed that I am here," he remarks casually, thumb rubbing the side of my hand. I look up instinctively, and— damn. We step across another cluster of bushes, the branches scratching at my ankles, and are suddenly at the very edge of the yard that leads up to the Crypt.

"Wow," I mutter, mostly to myself, "that was fast." And then the door of the house very dramatically bursts open, his sisters streaming out.

They're _quick. _Honestly, I really haven't even gotten entirely used to the fact that they're _here_ at all, these girls who are actually _related _to Nahuel— and not in the way that the good doctor and his "sons" are related, he and Mary and Grace and Norah actually share _blood. _And I can tell that he loves them, loves them just the way that I love Seth, maybe even more, just from the way he talks about them— loves them and misses them and you can _bet_ Sam and Jared and Paul and all the rest of that idiotic pack are convinced the half-breeds aren't even capable of emotions.

That's the really demented thing about brothers and sisters: you love each other _forever, _even if three seconds later you swear you hate their guts.

"_Nahuel__, estamos muy alegres de que estes aqui!"_

I get jerked abruptly back to the moment, out of my inner (and also slightly useless) ramblings, but it's hardly worth it. I can't _see _any of them.

The girls, that is; Nahuel is clear as day— I don't think he'll ever _not _be, actually —but his sisters are _here,_ and they're _moving. _Revolving constantly around us, shifting and kissing and hugging every part of Nahuel they can reach, babbling in gushes of happy Spanish that make my head ache from trying to understand.

Black hair. Golden-lit skin, the same as Nahuel's. Long arms, little-girl voices. One of them reaching out, for… me?

Nahuel speaks, in English, warningly: "_Grace._"

It takes me a moment to trail up the hand that's grabbed onto my free one, into the face of the sister who could only be… Licking Girl. She's pouting, not at me, but at her brother. And it probably says a whole lot about me that the first thought I have when I look at her is, _Damn. Her lips are fuckin' _huge_!_

"_Salvo, Nahuel,_" she says. Well, more like whines, actually. "_Deseo al gusto—_"

"_Grace._" This time it's one of her sisters saying it, just as sharply as Nahuel had. "Speak English. I am sure this woman wishes to understand our conversation."

Grace pouts again; I almost laugh. How many times a day does she have somebody reprimanding her like that? "I apologize," she says, blinking up at me. She's standing right in front of me, Mary and Norah on either side of her (except I'm not sure which one is which— I should probably figure that out).

And, um, she's sort of… _on_ me. As in really, _really_ close, to the point where our stomachs are almost touching. I can see every detail of her face, the curves of her too-big lips and the flecks of green in her eyes that give her a distinctly human look. Nahuel seems to notice how uncomfortable that's getting, because he puts a hand on her shoulder, pushing her back gently.

"Not so close, _querida,_" one of her sisters, the one on the left, chides, brushing long locks of hair behind her ears. "Personal space."

"I am _aware, _Mary." Grace looks very close to sticking out her tongue and stamping her foot. Yep, definitely normal siblings, for the most part. She turns back to me, the wattage of her smile flipping up. "Hello, Native woman. It is a pleasure to meet another of the shape shifter's. May I taste you?"

There's a chorus of sighs; Grace whips to the side, glaring, while I can't help but giggle insanely. Christ. Since when do I _giggle? _

Oh yeah. Since the sister of my imprint asked if she could _taste _me. And, though my mind may possibly just be living a solitary life in the gutter of filth… yeah, that sounds _really _sexual.

The sister on the right, who I can only assume is Norah, opens her mouth to say something to Grace, but I answer first. "Yeah," I tell her, and it brings her eyes automatically back to mine. "Sure, you can taste me. Go ahead."

She gives me a blank look, then, slowly, a forty-tooth smile, leans over and up, and licks the side of my cheek.

…Do _human _tongues _feel_ like that?

There are thousands of bumps, somehow much more pronounced than regular taste buds, that I catch for half a second before Grace pulls away, satisfied and licking her lips thoughtfully. Norah rolls her eyes, a perfect imitation of Nahuel.

"And," said imprint asks amusedly, his hand tightening over mine, "what does she taste like, Grace?"

There's a moment of quiet, while she contemplates this. Then she announces gleefully: "Mangoes and water!"

Above her head, Mary and Norah exchange a small, what-can-you-do sort of smile. I stare at her, even more so when she follows her declaration with a piercing grin aimed at me and the guarantee that, "I _like _mangoes and water."

"Sooo... you like me?" I venture.

Her grin curls up the side of her face. "I believe that I might."

_Well, _I have time to think, _I'm doing better with them than Huilen. _But then I realize I may have spoken (thought) too soon, because sister-on-the-right (Norah) has finally honed her eyes in on what Mary and Grace have either not noticed or chosen to ignore. The hands Nahuel and I have twisted together between us, half-hidden behind our bodies.

Her words are slow and much more thickly accented than the other girl's. "Nahuel… is this shape shifter woman your mate?" she asks curiously, inclining her head in the direction of our hands so that a straight curtain of dark hair falls over to hide her face. The other two are looking there immediately, narrowed eyes and, after a second, wide open mouths.

Only Nahuel seems utterly calm. "Yes, she is. Her name is Leah," he tells them serenely, and I don't think I'll _ever _get tired of hearing him say my name.

_Focus, _I remind myself quickly, because I'm not exactly sure what the chances are of the girls jumping me right now. Is this good or bad for them?

"_¡Oh, maravilloso!_ _Va_ _a ser mi nueva hermana!_"

Well. That answers _that_ question.

Grace throws her arms around my neck, the first sister to recover from the shock, while I try to figure out what she just cried in Spanish. She kisses me on the cheek, the same place she tasted me, and then pats my hand with a smile before turning to face Mary.

"Are you not glad, sister? Nahuel has found a mate!"

Mary has to be the oldest, right? "I am very glad," she decides slowly, looking from my face to Nahuel's and back again. "I am certain that Father will be, as well."

Way to go, Mary. Grace's entire face falls, and even Norah, who's only talked once so far, looks upset. Yeah, Joham is definitely one huge killjoy.

"He is aware?" Nahuel asks, shortly. I wonder if he's cursing Huilen out in his mind. I know I am.

Mary nods, and reaches out to touch the side of his arm. "Huilen informed him during her telephone call. He is rather… disgruntled."

"I'm sure that's putting it lightly," Nahuel murmurs under his breath. I squeeze his hand, trying, but most likely failing, to make him feel any better. I don't think Grace has completely learned her lesson about personal space, though, because she wraps herself around my other arm, moving around Norah to whisper in my ear:

"We have received visitation from the Volturi. When Father heard tell of a half-vampire that was not of his creation, he was quite eager for the child and Nahuel to become mates."

I think I might have choked. I'm not quite sure. Their dad wants…

_Hell _no.

I'm a little disgruntled myself at this. It's understandable. My imprint's _dad _wants him to get it on with a _six month old_. Hell. No. Hence, this is the only explanation I have for why I say straight up to Grace, "Yeah, don't worry, I'll bust your dad's ass if it comes to that, because no way in _hell_ is that gonna happen."

Mary looks absolutely scandalized; Nahuel appears to be stunned— but then tilts his head back and laughs so loudly it almost drowns out the sound of Norah clapping a hand to her mouth to hide her slow-burning smile.

Grace buries her head in my shoulder, not giggling the way her younger sister is, more like… cackling. My kinda chick. "I _do _like you," she informs me sweetly, lips forming the words over the fine hairs of my arm.

"Thanks. You're pretty cool too," I say. Because she is. Because wouldn't it be ironic if the first female friend I manage to make since Emily is… half-vampire.

"Does she often use such expletives?" Mary asks Nahuel quietly, sounding vaguely worried. He nods.

"I find it endearing."

"_Mi Dios,_" she mumbles, and takes Norah's hand. Her brother gives her a look that very clearly says, _are you serious? _

"You've heard much worse," he reminds her, and Grace nods from the other side of me.

"Father is not very controlled in his language," she states plainly, starting to trace the lines of my palm with the tips of her fingers. Yeeeah, definitely no sense of personal space. Though I can't say it's bad, considering how everyone tends to avoid the harpy-bitch that is me.

"So I've heard." I look up at Nahuel, who seems like he's having a sort of staring contest with Mary. He raises his eyebrows once, emphatically, and she gives a short nod in response. …Okay? Before I can even ask, he turns slightly, so he can lean down and touch my forehead with his. Mmm. Sufficiently distracted.

"Mary, Grace, and Norah will be staying with the Cullen's until our father arrives."

"…All righty, then."

There's a sharp tug on my arm. "You will stay with us, too!" Grace crows. "We must speak together, new sister!"

All three of her siblings roll her eyes in tandem. Family, they absolutely are. "Gracie, Nahuel and his mate most likely wish to be alone in the night time," Mary says gently, extracting Grace from my arm. I'm not any help at all, letting Grace clutch all she wants, but—

Did Mary just imply what I _think _she just implied?!

Er, yeah, she must have, since Nahuel's eyes are just as wide as mine feel, and just as panicked— but that sentence sure rammed home for Grace.

"Oh!" She blinks at us, and then smiles with pointed teeth. "I understand. You wish to have sexual intercourse with each other."

Jesus. Fucking. _Christ. _

How do you _answer _that? _How? _

…I seriously don't think I've _ever _been so glad for one Jacob's sudden appearances at exactly the wrong time.

"Um," my Alpha says, his face twisting in horror, coming up behind all three girls with a T-shirt thrown over his arm, obviously just phased. "Do I… wanna know?"

"Nope," I say hurriedly, or maybe I squeak it. I'm not sure. I grab him by the arm, just as Grace breaks into another one of her huge, jaw-breaking grins. "Jake, yeah, hey, what's up!"

I'm not sure if he takes in what I'm saying— the expression of abject horror has been transferred over to Grace. "Oh," he says faintly, and actually backs up a step. "…Can you not… lick me again? Please?"

Her laugh is a perfect duplicate of Nahuel's. "Of course I will not, shape shifter Alpha!"

Jacob's relief is almost physical. "Good. Cool. Leah— yeah, just, I'm ignoring that last part—"

"Which is why I love and respect you."

"Might wanna hold that." He pulls the shirt over his head, still standing just behind all of Nahuel's sisters. When his head pops out of the collar again, his hair is ridiculously messed up. "Carlisle wants to talk to you, now that you're here."

…Oh.

"Talk?" I say, aiming for a calm, even tone of voice, but most definitely failing. I'm betting I ended up more on the hysterical side of things. "Like, in the living room, you mean?"

Jacob bites his lower lip. "…In his office, actually."

Shit. Shitshitshit. This is so _way too soon. _As in, thirty _years _too soon.

Nahuel's free hand comes to cover my fingers, the ones that are intertwined with his. "Would you like to go alone?" he asks, quiet, in my ear; I can see the girls exchanging looks in front of us, looks of, _what is going on? _

"No," I answer, and I hope he knows that my next sentence can apply to any situation, ever. "Don't go."


	14. Chapter 14

I hate doctors.

Yeah, okay, so it's a pretty stupid thing to hate, considering the abundance of hate-able vampires that keep cropping up in my life— except for the part where my imprint is part vampire, and therefore slowly but surely seeping away my hatred. Which would have seriously pissed me off, but...

Hello. _Imprint._

And besides, much as I attempt to squash it down, there is (in _very_ sad fact) a part of me— a small, _insanely_ annoying and persistent part –that keeps pointing out that if a half-vamp is so wonderful, then it stands to reason that the full vamps just might be... y'know. Sort of… tolerable.

If I don't breathe and look away from their creepy perfect faces and cover my ears so I won't have to listen to their voices.

...but whatever. Like I said, incredibly small and annoying part that takes up less than five percent of my brain. The point is, I'm not about to burst into a song and dance number about the animal control livin' up in the crypt. (And don't think I haven't noticed the whole reluctance-to-call-them-leeches-and-bloodsuckers. I don't even know what's up with that, since Jacob's general greeting to Mind-Fucker is, "Yo, what up, leech?" Apparently I'm just the odd one out. As if I don't get enough of _that._)

So, yeah. Even though Dr. Sparkles' never killed any humans— fun fact I learned from Seth, the walkin', talkin' vamp encyclopedia –I still reserve the right to hate him.

Because he's a _doctor._

I don't have a good track record with doctors. At all.

When I went in for checkups back when I was little, my plan to get out of it was pretty much "scream to all holy hell," and it really wouldn't surprise me if I'd tried to stab the nurses back with their own needles. Mom told me she was worried my head would spin around and give her an instant replay of The Exorcist.

Basic summary?

I'm _not_ good with doctors. In any way, shape, or form.

I'm telling all of this to Nahuel as we walk up the (really freakin' huge) yard. Mary, Grace, and Norah are only a little ahead, but completely busy talking to Jacob, thankfully. Or, well, I guess Grace is actually the one doing the talking, since Mary and Norah keep trading off on trying to peel her away from Jacob's arm. Which she has very effectively managed attached herself to.

Like a demented octopus.

I don't particularly care what they're doing, though, since it means they aren't here. Listening to me go Almost Totally Hysterical. (Yes, it does deserve capital letters, thankyouverymuch.) That can't be helpful for first impressions.

Besides, I'm working on the whole hysteria thing. I've already gone Completely Hysterical in front of Nahuel once today, and I don't plan on doing it again; hence, I keep veering randomly off track, trying to keep myself from focusing too much on the whole, "_shit,_ we're almost _there_ at the _house_" thing.

"I like Grace's hair," I inform him, watching it bounce as she walks. And attempting not to see the slightly-out-of-focus Crypt in front of her. "It's curly and awesome."

"It is like Father's," he answers calmly, as if he's unaware that just three seconds ago I was giving him my freakish medical history. "And mine."

"Your hair's curly?" I ask, completely surprised.

"When I take it down, yes, a bit."

"Huh."

Weird. I've never thought about what it'd be like out of his braid. (I had, however, thought that I had a thing for guys with ponytails, except... braids win out. Big time.) I look up at him, drawing my eyebrows together. "Hey," I ask suddenly, "what do you think your aunt'd do if somebody imprinted on her?"

It's not a random question, I swear. Obviously, it kinda seems that way, but it had some reasoning behind it. Some. The kind that just jumps into my mind fully formed, basically because of the fact that Embry is walking out of the doorway to the Crypt right in front of me, looking suitably disgusted and choking on air.

And also un-imprinted.

Nahuel stares at me, apparently contemplating the possibility. "That poor shape shifter," is what he finally says, suitably anguished. I laugh. Which is nice. I'd forgotten how much I liked to laugh. Embry hurries off to the edge of the woods, tugging the shirt he's wearing over his head as he goes, not sparing a glance to Nahuel's sisters. Hmm. Somebody's going to need to be introduced later.

I wonder what it says about me that I really, really hope Grace licks him.

* * *

"Miss Clearwater," Dr. Sparkles says, sitting behind his desk with his hands folded together like some fucking statue of Buddha. "It's a pleasure to see you again."

"I'd say the same thing, but... yeah, considering the circumstances, it's really not."

...Lying for the sake of politeness is for _losers._ I pick at a hole in my jeans, not meeting the doc's creepy gold eyes. Not that I would prefer them to be red or anything. Vamp eyes are just creepy in a general sort of way. Nahuel is sitting beside me, looking about ten seconds away from saying 'screw this chair' and sitting on the floor instead. He tends to like sitting on the floor rather than, y'know, actual furniture; random fact I've noticed. Yep.

I hear Grace shriek something in Spanish, all the way on the bottom floor, and possibly six hallways away (she's loud). Then Jacob yells what sounds like a completely horrified sentence, and then... the kid is laughing. Really loudly and dementedly. Awesome, Grace has transferred more of her DNA onto other people (things? –Not that I think of all the half-vamps as 'things.' The kid just annoys me. What three year old reads _Romeo and Juliet?_ Which yes, sadly enough, I did see her reading a couple of days ago).

Nahuel shakes his head and murmurs an apology to the good doctor for Grace's "behavior." How exactly that's something he can help, I don't really know, but...

"Perfectly all right, Nahuel," Dr. Sparkles smiles. Damn, his teeth are pointy. Creeeepy. "They all seem very charming. I hope to meet them as soon as we have completed our meeting."

Ouch. Right back to the matter at hand, which makes me stomach drop into uncomfortable places. Fuck, I don't want to be here at all.

This is only the second story, I could bust out a window...

...No.

I decide, very suddenly, and probably about a good amount of time after I should have, that I am not going to be a pansy about this. I _will_ sit up straight, I _will_ answer all of Dr. Vamp's questions, and I _will_ move on with my life. I will not show exactly how much I want to phase and run down to La Push and scream at the Elders about how could they _do_ this to me, right when I was on the edge of finally being happy. I will _not _berate the doctor, I _will_ do what he says, and I _will_ get this over with.

I am not about to break down again, dammit. I'm not Mrs. Love Shield— I prefer to take my breakdowns per decade rather than per week.

I force my hands away from the hole in my jeans and cross my legs, going for the most composed look I can manage. What's that stupid saying our old drama teacher was always using? Fake it until you make it.

Luckily, I've always been good at faking.

(…But _goddamn_ if I don't wish we'd stopped for a pack of cigarettes.)

I look straight at Dr... Cullen. Dr. Cullen. That's his name. Right. "What do you have to do?" I ask.

He shuffles a few papers on his desk, fixing nonexistent clutter. Ugh. "Actually, Miss Clearwater, the first thing my wife reminded me to inform you of is that I am not the only one in this house who has gone to medical school."

Um, okay? Why does that matter, again?

"If you wish it, either Edward, Rosalie, or I can perform your examination."

I answer before I can stop myself. Really.

"Fuck no, Mind-Rapist isn't giving me a gynecological exam!" I say loudly, clenching my hands over the arms of the chair hard enough to turn my knuckles white. Nobody says anything after that, Dr. Sp— Cullen just _looks_ at me, but then... Nahuel starts laughing. I glance at him, horrified, and... blushing?

...What? No, I don't_ do_ blushing. I'm _Leah Clearwater_. I do not blush. That is for stupid teenage girls with thirty year old boyfriends.

...Except for that part where I'm technically nineteen and Nahuel is technically, like, a century and a half old.

Whoops.

"Shut up," I order him, crossing my arms over my chest and attempting to keep my back ramrod straight. "Pretend I didn't say that."

"Of course you didn't." But he's still smiling, so I can't really bring myself to be _honestly _mad. He's happy. That's _good._

Dr. Cullen (saying his actual name seems... wrong, somehow. Go figure) raises one eyebrow at us. Why is it that everyone can do that but me? "Mh-hmm. I take it you would prefer Rosalie or I?"

"Yeah." I shift, uncomfortably. My legs are starting to itch, wanting to phase. I haven't done it since yesterday. "You or Blondie." It's... actually something I have to think about. Freaky. But Jacob told me about Blondie... about how she wants kids. And can't have them. So maybe she'd be— I dunno. More sympathetic? Not that I need sympathy or anything. Just— but what if I can? Have kids, I mean.

(Not that that's likely. At all. In any way.

…Gearing myself up for disappointment, much?)

She'd be pissed. Definitely pissed if the one other genetic freak who can't have kids actually _can. _(Like I will, though. Right).

But she's a _chick._

...I really never though there would come a day when I would consider letting Rosalie Hale give me a gynecology exam.

Just the words in my mind make me want to gag. So I use my most formal voice (which kind of sucks, considering that I'm much more used to insults and sarcasm than formality) to say to the vamp doc, "You can do it. I— want you to." More than I want Mind-Rapist or Psycho-Barbie to. But there's no need to add that. I think.

Dr. Cullen nods. "All right. And when do you wish for the examination to take place?"

Never. That'd be great. But then Nahuel looks at me, and damn if he doesn't seem so concerned. Concerned about me. Since when has anyone been concerned about me? Not unless it was out of pity, and I could accuse him of that, but... I really don't think he does. I think, hanging around the Cullen's (who have so much pity for _everyone_ that isn't part of their _family_), that he knows what being pitied is like.

Not fun.

So I bite my tongue and I keep staring at him from out of the corner of my eye, and I mutter, "Soon."

The lee... the doctor nods his stupid blond head.

"Soon."

* * *

_a/n:_ Allrighty. Y'all know how I usually update on Sunday? Because I'm just habitual like that? Weeell, my laptop is sort of infected with all kind of crap viruses (wooh…) and my brothers' computer is just crap in general and won't let me update my stories. So posting a chapter requires using my mother's computer, which requires her… you know, not being here. So expect updating to start happening on Monday's instead (when her "job" leaves me alone for two and a half hours ;)).

…anyway. Blah, not much happens in this chapter. I guess it's just sort of a filler, since either the next chapter or the one after that will be Nahuel's POV again. Which I very much enjoy writing ;) Huge thanks to everyone who's reviewed. (And, just for the record, if you want to read some more L/N stuff, and you haven't read No Such Thing as Happily Ever After by dyingimmortal yet… you should. More multi-chapter, wooh! And very funny. Read iiit.)


	15. Interlude II: Nahuel

This is on the verge of becoming truly ridiculous.

"Get out," I order bluntly. "You are my sisters, I love you all and I wish for you to be happy and content in your lives. Except for at this particular moment. Get out."

I make to shut the door again, but Grace stops me with a very effective hand on the middle of the door frame. Most unfortunately, I am against inflicting her any physical harm by shutting the wood over her fingers, so I merely cross my arms and let her speak. "But we wish to stay with you," she tries to reason, Norah and Mary nodding in agreement. "Please, brother? You let us sleep with you at home."

"Because," I remind them, "it is not _my_ home, it is yours, that and the rather obvious fact that I need no more reason to fight with Father than necessary."

Grace frowns, tugging on the edge of her hair and taking a step towards me. I hold onto the doorknob as though it is a weapon. Also most unfortunately, I believe that I am beginning to become spoilt with all of the privacy the Cullen's house has offered me. Rare are the days that I don't find Aunt Huilen three steps in front of me at all times; our house is nothing more than one large open space for when we need shelter from the heavy rain, in my case, or from the bright sun, in hers (she rather detests her... glittering tendencies).

Mary follows Grace's example, stepping forward and pointing out softly, "You sleep with your mate, but tonight she has returned to her mother. Let us stay instead."

"We will not be bothersome," Norah assures me, her words almost distracting enough for my eyes to not catch Grace edging even farther into my bedroom. "We will be quiet and nice. So quiet and nice, you will not even believe it. Please, brother?" she says, echoing Grace's earlier words.

Apparently, my arguments with Father over the merits of allowing them to sleep together have only managed to go in one ear and out the other. Not that this is a shocking revelation; he simply ignores what he does not wish to hear (though this mostly applies to Aunt Huilen's threats of imminent castration should he lay a hand on her).

I suppose, recalling that old habits are hard to break, allowing them to sleep with me will not hurt anything. It _is _a strange place they find themselves in, after all.

In accordance with my thoughts, I sigh deeply, and then pull the door back to allow the girls their entrance. Grace immediately rushes in, throwing a happy _"Gracias"_ over her shoulder. Norah is quick to follow her example, and I hear them crawling onto and over the bed as Mary places a hand on my arm.

"I will find my own bedroom, if it pleases you," she tells me quietly. Her eyes flicker behind me, to Grace and Norah. "They will not be truly angry to sleep alone. Father needs to learn he must not encourage their childishness so."

I don't answer for a moment, but take her fingers to pull her inside too. "Just as you must learn to stop playing the martyr?"

The teasing, as I had hoped it would, draws a roll of Mary's eyes. "I am not. I do not wish to make you uncomfortable, brother, that and that alone."

"I will not be unhappy if you stay with me. Come."

Her hesitation is slight and yet still glaringly present, which prompts Grace to call, "Hush now, sister! Come and join us. Nahuel has given his blessing, and has promised to tell us of his shape shifter mate. I wish to hear his story."

It is the mention of Leah, I think, which finally draws Mary completely into the room— curiosity killed the cat, I am tempted to point out. I shut the door behind her, not bothering to flip the lock, and turn to find the three of them readily assembled on my bed. Norah darts her eyes away from mine as I approach, patting the space between she and Mary. "Sit here, brother," she says. "Tell us the story you promised."

"It is late," I warn them, but oblige my youngest sister and take the place they have provided. "And it may be a long story. Father shall arrive tomorrow, am I correct?"

Grace, lying on the foot of the bed, chooses this moment to position my legs to her contentment, before lying between them in such a tilted way that her head comes to rest on Mary's lap. "So it seems. But when we came through, we saw nomads, so he will most likely stop and speak with them. We have more focus than that."

Mary clicks her tongue chidingly. "You mean I practically dragged you by the hair away from those poor vampires."

"Yes, that too."

There's laughter, and Norah teases Grace about wanting to lick the nomads, and Mary begins braiding Gracie's hair, complaining of the uncooperative curls, and it is in this fashion that we continue on. The presence of my sisters is more than enough to distract from the feeling of sadness I have being away from Leah. It isn't a big sadness, knowing that I will see her again soon enough; not like the one my mother's absence gives me, and not at all like Mary's long and continuous mourning sadness. Sometimes I even hasten to believe that Mary is my closest sibling not because we are the most similar in age, but because Mother's loss stains me the same way the loss of her babies stains her.

My middle sister is the first to nod off, her breathing and heartbeat evening at the same time. Another testament to old habits dying hard, her thumb goes immediately to her mouth. Mary mutters: "I blame Father fully. He thought it adorable when she was small, until she didn't grow out of it."

Somehow, over the course of our conversation, her head has drooped onto my shoulder, but she still fights sleepiness for a few moments longer to reach over and pull Grace's hand away from her mouth. I don't have the heart to do the same when both are asleep and Grace unconsciously puts it back.

I glance at Norah, with her knees tucked beneath her chin. "Would you like to sleep as well? You look exhausted."

She shakes her head, long straight hair a waterfall over the starch white pillows. Out of them all, Norah is the only one who has never expressed a desire to cut her hair. (A blame that goes to Father, once again— he insists that short hair is not ladylike. Which makes me _so_ much more excited for him to meet Leah, of course.)

"Brother?" she asks, stretching her legs out underneath the blankets. "You never did tell us about your shape shifter mate."

"True. I'm sorry. But your sisters were tired."

"Will you tell me now?"

I shift Mary to the left so that I may do so in turn, allowing Norah to fall gently onto her back. "Don't you wish for Mary and Grace to awaken?"

"Not particularly." She smiles, turning onto her side, the length of her hair coiled over her arm.  
"Please? She seems— she let Grace lick her. And didn't scream."

"Yes, people do tend to do that, don't they?"

"Stupid, scare-able humans."

We laugh together, though privately, I worry that mine seems to be exactly what it is— forced. But I had this argument with Father when Mary was still small, and even Aunt Huilen said to me that I must let him raise them as he wishes. Thinking humans are so beneath us, so weak and foolish; and Father chuckles and wonders why I send them gifts of books on Madame Curie, on Aristotle, on Descartes. I try time and time again to show them that humans are brilliant in their own right, but where does it get me?

The same place I always end up when Father is involved: absolutely nowhere.

I beg a minute of reflection from Norah, who acquiesces with a flutter of her eyes and a drowsy sigh. The slight paleness of her cheeks only serves to remind me that when they all awaken, they will need to hunt— and will be none to pleased when they find out their expected prey. _I_ am still none too pleased, and I am the only one with a true reason to hunt in such a manner.

_But I am lucky_, I reason with myself, trying to resettle Mary's weight so that it doesn't press so against my shoulder. It is rare to feel the uncontrollable cravings for blood that afflict Aunt Huilen when she goes weeks without hunting. It definitely isn't comparable to the alcoholic substance that I have heard the true vampires describe it as... which only serves to make me feel even worse about not wanting to stop drinking it. Not alcohol or narcotics— but the sweetest dessert sitting right in front of you.

At least Aunt Huilen only has us hunt when absolutely necessary— and we don't torture our victims. Would we have lived in such a way if we knew there was another option?

We always mourn our dead, I remind myself. Even if it is we who have killed them; it is our way. No need for their spirits to become restless just because of our inherent hunger.

I spoke with Aunt Huilen about it, the Cullen's diet, earlier in the day, just after Leah left to join the rest of her pack. She looked immensely glad to leave, not that I blamed her; after the meeting she had to endure with Dr. Cullen, she practically threw herself down the stairs. Once her scent was long gone, I deposited the girls with Renesmee and her parents and went to find my aunt. Not difficult— she had given up on existing in the woods, re-entering the house once assured that no other vampire would attack her for alerting my father. The parents of Renesmee might have been a tad aggravated, what with his obsession with half-breeds, but I feel that Edward's mind-reading had something to do with his easy acceptance of her once again.

I do feel slightly sorry for him. Aunt Huilen's mind must be vaguely scary.

But I do think that I managed to make her feel a bit better without even realizing it. It was right in the middle of a rather vicious rant about denying my nature that I interrupted her with, "Auntie, I do love you, but you are aware of the fact that I am a century and a half old and therefore quite capable of both making and carrying out my own decisions, aren't you?"

She blinked rather furiously, considering that she really does not need to do so at all. "Excuse me?"

"I said that I can both make and carry out my own decisions, Aunt Huilen."

"I heard you!" Then why bother asking? But I very wisely did not say this out loud. "I meant that— you don't love me."

No, I only said as much for the comic effect. Obviously.

I gave her a rather strange look, choosing to keep this last remark to myself. "Of course I do. I am only saying that just because I do, doesn't mean that I have to agree with you all of the time."

"Of course not," Aunt Huilen snapped back. "The day your father and I exchange vows will be the day you agree with me on everything, boy."

Why does she insist on calling me that? I am almost completely sure that I would have known by now if I were a girl. She needn't remind me. I pointed this out to her once when I was younger and she became so irritated that I was forced to eat human food for a week; her version of a punishment. Disgusting. I now knew enough not to even mention this, and merely continued on, "Yes, Auntie, I know that you have qualms about this— vegetarian diet. But please be reasonable. I wish to try it. Don't you want to try it with me?"

"No."

"Are you certain?"

"Yes."

Thank you for such in-depth, emotional responses, Aunt Huilen. I am so very glad we can have these sorts of talks. "Suit yourself," I shrugged, and then stood to leave her given room. "But I am going to attempt it. I do love you, but I don't need your blessing for everything I choose to try."

And I hurried out before she could throw something at me.

Which... leaves me here, in bed with my sisters, a half day later. Wondering if the only reason I was not pelted with various objects or screeched at to return was because of those _I love you'_s. But if she cannot even understand that I love her, how do I expect her to realize exactly what I feel for Leah?

_Whatever _those feelings are?

* * *

I wake up to Mary murmuring softly in her slumber. Wonderful.

Sitting up, rubbing at my eyes, I am slow and careful so as not to disturb the still-sleeping bodies around me. It isn't even dawn yet, judging by the deep blue-black darkness I can catch through the edge of the curtains. Can she not contain her sleep-talk until it is actually _light_ out?

Immediately, the thought makes me feel utterly rude, especially when her next word is very clearly _Anne._ Which only serves to make my heart begin the painful process of breaking for my oldest sister— it would be the kindest act to wake her, would it not? That was what I wished Aunt Huilen had done when I dreamt of Mother. It is much easier to be forcefully pulled out of one's dream than to awaken and slowly realize that it isn't true.

That is my incentive as I push Norah away as gently as I can, leaning over to tap Mary's arm where it has fallen across my chest. "Mary? Wake up, please."

She sighs, twisting and turning and making Grace do so in a form of chain reaction. I hurry to rock her arm again, hissing, "Sister, it is time to wake up. _Now._"

Mary turns her head away from me. I sigh, "No, not five minutes from this moment, _now_."

Finally, finally, her eyes flutter open. When she stares at the ceiling her face is utterly blank, and I fear for half a second that she is going to have one of her sad days again. Then she lifts her head, still drooping and tired, and asks in an only slightly sleep-slurred voice, "What was that for? I was _asleep_."

"I hadn't noticed." Our voices are hushed, incredibly conscious of Grace and Norah still peacefully slumbering around us. "You were talking about them," I tell her quietly. "I thought it best to wake you up before... well. I thought it best to wake you, is all."

Mary doesn't answer me for a long while. Her pulse jumps unevenly beneath her skin, and a long strand of hair falls over her shoulder as she turns away to gaze out of the thin slice of window. "I'm sorry," she says eventually. "I didn't mean to."

"There's nothing to apologize for. You can't help dreams."

The entirety of her body spasms with a shudder. "I wish that I could."

What are the words for this kind of moment? Are there even any in existence? Is that why Aunt Huilen could never bring herself to comfort me after I woke from dreams in which my mother was happy and whole?

Our silence is broken only by the occasional sigh from Norah, the clenching and unclenching of Grace's fingers. "They're usually worse than that," Mary says. Her voice is quiet and hoarse, on the verge of breaking. "The dreams. It's the new place, I think. That's why I wanted to go to university, you know. All of the new things... they distracted me. So I didn't think about them all of the time."

I know the feeling she has right now only because she has described it to me before, when Norah was still a newborn child: the feeling of floating underwater, with not nearly enough strength to break the surface. "Maybe you could travel," I suggest to her. "Go everywhere. That would help, would it not?"

Mary's lips purse together, one of her hands finding Grace's forehead, stroking it softly. An instinct. "It might. Or it might only prove that ghosts can follow you across the world."

"You will not know unless you try," I say, but my words will never convince her. I am fully aware of that-- Father will not want her to go, and so she will not. It is as simple as that.

She sighs, so deep it looks as though it makes her chest ache. "They would be grown-up," she whispers, not meeting my eye, too ashamed to let on that she knows I know she is crying. "They would all be grown-up right now. _We _could sleep together, in the same bed. Nahuel, it isn't _fair._"

"No," I agree softly, and see only Mother's face from Aunt Huilen's descriptions. "It isn't fair."

It isn't fair that Mother is dead, and it isn't fair that the blame for that lays solely on my shoulders. It isn't fair that Leah's father is dead, and it isn't fair that Seth has told me she takes full responsibility. It isn't fair that Mary still mourns her stillborn children, and it isn't fair that some days the sadness of that still ties her down so tightly she cannot even get out of bed for her sorrow. It isn't fair that she tries so hard to keep Grace and Norah from experiencing such grief, when we both know she will ultimately fail. It isn't fair that Aunt Huilen hates her life, hates herself.

It isn't fair. But we must live with it, regardless.


	16. Chapter 16

"So, what would happen if Nahuel took those stupid braids out of his hair? Would he look like Fabio or something?"

There is really only one response to that statement— and lucky for me, I do happen to have a large book on hand to fling at Embry's face. "Seriously dude, shut up," I groan.

"I'm just asking," Embry protests, the book not even making a dent on his forehead. Damn. I think it would have been rather attractive and serve as a great icebreaker with ladies— _"So, how'd you get the huge book-shaped dent on your forehead?" _

To which the correct answer would be, _"I was acting like a douchebag." _

Obviously.

Embry heaves the book back at me. Bad plan, since when I catch it I notice that it's his Economics textbook. Go him for making up high school, rah-rah and all that, but really, economics? I can see him somehow screwing up and causing the second Great Depression. Just for curiosity's sake, I flip it open. Inflation, consumer rate, blah blah, marketing techniques, crap I don't care about, statistical shit, whatever...

"This is the most boring thing on the face of the planet," I announce decisively, flinging the book behind me in a very debonair sort of way. Even though guys are debonair, not women. Shh. "I mean, besides Sam and Emily's sex life," I add, just because I can.

"At least it exists," Quil points out, strolling out of Embry's kitchen with a sandwich twice the size of his (admittedly rather large) head. Embry's is apparently The Place to congregate now, since Paul is over at Jacob's house infecting the air with his asshole-ness and my mom jumps me every time we go to my house. (She's a little over-excited about the whole 'my-spinster-daughter-has-finally-imprinted' thing.) And Old Quil is not a particularly warming host because of that tendency he has to smack us on the back of the head when we get "smart."

Also, I sort of hate him right now.

For voting the way he did at the meeting about me, I mean. (Which I was not _even invited to._ Seriously. In what Twilight-Zone world does that make _sense?_)

"What's that supposed to mean?" I demand now, propping my feet up on the coffee table. Miss Manners, I am not. Quil plops down on the floor and starts inhaling his sandwich.

"It means," he enlightens us in between mouthfuls of ham and cheese, "that at least Sam won't kill Em by making out with her."

Ooh, is he seriously bringing this up again? I glare at Quil, but the sandwich appears to entice his small mind so much that he doesn't notice. "I thought we clarified this, pedo. It doesn't kill me, it just..."

"Makes you high?"

"No!" I yell.

"Whatever you say, Leah," he sing-songs.

"I don't trip on acid when I make out with my soul mate!"

"So you say."

"It was kind of weird," Embry pipes up, marking a page in the textbook that he somehow managed to retrieve a few minutes ago from behind the end table. Where I conveniently flung it. "Seeing it in your mind, I mean. Maybe it's like drugs. Maybe you'll get addicted to it."

"And become a nymphomaniac!" Quil adds helpfully, still stuffing the sandwich into his mouth. Gross. Haven't they heard about being respectful before a lady and all that shit? I sigh, slumping deeper into my seat. Why the hell am I even here?

Oh, yeah, that's right. Because Mom was annoying the _shit_ out of me.

_She was trying to be nice,_ I concede to myself. Except that "nice" started to get a teeny bit out of hand when she apologized each and every five. Fucking. Minutes. For all the crap that went down at the Elder Meeting, which isn't even something she can control in any way, so I don't get what she kept apologizing for. At least she didn't vote the way Old Quil and Billy did, I guess, which I think is something Jacob's chewing his dad out for right now.

Also, if I weren't here, I'd totally be punching Sam in the face.

Whilst laughing very hard.

And possibly taking a multitude of pictures.

Another sigh. Embry flips a page in his book, totally ignoring my depraved sighing. This sucks. Trust me, I would totally somewhere completely different right now... like with Nahuel. Yep, that'd be awesome. Except I can't.

Well, okay, I _can—_ I'm just being melodramatic, as is my tendency. There's not exactly anything stopping me, per say, other than the fact that I don't want to interrupt his sibling bonding time or whatever. I figure he should get a little time with his sisters before I show up and somehow screw some things up again.

That does appear to be my specialty.

* * *

I end up falling asleep facedown on Embry's couch, which makes me feel like some drunk college chick. The pattern from the fabric is embedded into my cheeks like some freaky-deaky tattoo when I wake up, by way of Jacob bursting through the front door and announcing that he wants some goddamn breakfast.

"Get it your fuckin' self," I mumble, arching my back to try and alleviate some of the soreness. How long was I out? Embry whistles as he walks towards the kitchen.

"Cover yourself, woman!" Jake throws a quilt hanging over the back of the couch at me on his way to the Holy Grail that is the fridge. "Stop doing porn star poses."

"I'm not an effing porn star," I argue, not very well, considering that I'm still drowsy. "What time did I fall asleep?"

There's the clang of pots and pans, the hiss of bacon, and the stoic beeping on the poor abused microwave. "Like, one in the morning," Embry answers. I pop my head over the couch.

"Why the hell are you here, Jake? Go get your own damn breakfast."

"This isn't even _your_ house," he points out, rightly so, but I don't acknowledge that part. I stretch my legs out, wondering where Seth is. It's so awful that he isn't around to experience the loving bond that I share with my fellow pack mates. They're so caring and thoughtful, it's astounding.

Jacob curses then, possibly crushing the egg he was holding, due to the strange cracking sound I hear. "Leah, how the fuck do you make goddamn pancakes?!"

And charming. Don't forget charming.

I end up making the pancakes, and then almost dropping them on the floor, and then get syrup flung across the front of my shirt via Quil, who apparently thinks it's okay to act like a four year old just because he's imprinted on one. I yell myself hoarse for a few minutes and then scrape the pancake-pan off in the sink, stealing a few bites from Embry's bowl of pre-breakfast cereal that he left lying on the counter. Idiot.

"So, Jake." I toss a plate of toast that Quil left on top of the toaster on the table, grabbing one for myself before plopping down in a chair across from my esteemed and considerate Alpha. "How's Nesserella?"

He rolls his eyes at me. Ma-ture. "Can you not call her by her name? It's not that hard."

"I'm physically incapable." I take a bite of the toast and consider how to say my next sentence incredibly casually. "Sooo. You… goin' to the Crypt later?"

Jacob pauses in the act of stuffing the crust of his toast into his huge gob of a mouth. Crap. Crappity crap crap. Way to use my incredible subtlety skills. "Not that I wanna go or anything," I add in a rush, scooting my chair back so I can prop my legs up on the table in a decidedly relaxed way. Because I'm so sure I fooled him. "Y'know. But if you're going, I might as well come too. For… stuff." I nod emphatically. "Yeah."

But he's still looking at me like I might just flip out and fling my toast in his face at any moment. I grimace; maybe I already have. Flipped, I mean. I'm fucking _asking_ to come to the Crypt, for God's sake. To see my imprint. Who is half-vampire. And sucks blood.

A lot.

Embry and Quil clatter in from the living room, whooping when they see the rest of the food. Weirdoes. Jacob raises his eyebrows at me.

"Actually," he says breezily, "I'm going there now. Wanna come?"

* * *

We manage to drag the other two with us, after they finish their all-important breakfast, because God forbid they skip a meal. The sky might collapse. Jake shoves me toward the shower before we leave, though, and grabs my syrup-covered shirt to throw in the washing machine. Whoops. Luckily, due to my excellent foresight (or Seth nagging me until I did it… whatever), I have a few stashes of clothes in the Cullen's woods. As soon as I flip off the water in Embry's bathroom, I dry myself off and phase right outside the door.

Jacob's in my head the minute I do. _That was dangerously close to streaking._

_Why is everyone around here allowed to be naked except me?_ I complain, my paws hitting the dirt easily. God, I love running.

_Don't worry,_ he thinks, doing a mental smirk_. I'm sure Nahuel wouldn't mind if you were._

_I'm going to stab you one of these days_, I warn.  
_  
Good luck with that._

I dive through a collection of trees, pine needles sticking to my fur. _Where're Mo and Curly?_

_I told 'em to go ahead and see how Ness was._ Jacob waits a second and then adds,_ And also to meet Nahuel's sisters._

Maybe this is why I'm the Beta— I mean, besides my awesome people skills, of course. The ability to coordinate thoughts with my Alpha. Embry's face hangs in our heads; I whine softly, even though he can't hear me. _What if he... you know? On one of the girls? _I wonder how I can call them 'girls' with a straight face when Norah can't be even more than five years younger than me.

Jacob doesn't have to ask what I'm talking about. _Then he does,_ he says, utterly calm. Somebody's mellowed out._ We can't blindfold him, Leah._

_Their Dad'll be pissed,_ I remind him, and then feel a jerk in my stomach. Joham should be here soon. Fan-fucking-tastic. _That half of his kids got imprinted on, I mean._

_Let's... cross that bridge when we come to it.  
_  
_You, sticking your head in the sand?_ I think dryly. _Go figure._

He only sends a quick hope that I'll crash into a tree as a response. How kind.

_You know, you'd seriously miss me if I was gone, _I tell him smugly. _If me and Nahuel ever move to fucking Ecuador or whatever, you'd miss me. You would pine deeply for me and I would just ignore you because of those kinds of cruel remarks. You see what you do to me, Jake?_

He lets me know very clearly that he's snorting right now. _Yeah, because I care so_— But he breaks off, disgust rolling in his thoughts. _Crap. I smell leech._

_Let's invite it to tea,_ I suggest. It never stops amazing me how just the fact that I'm going to see Nahuel can put me in a better mood... albeit never a less sarcastic one.

_I don't recognize it_, Jacob hisses, going all Alpha on me.

_Chillax. It's probably that freaky Egyptian vamp and his sex slave. Didn't you say they were coming?_

I can hear him relaxing at the reminder. Christ. I am not a freaking downer, he just needs to learn how to control his "kill the leech" instincts by himself.

_Thank you, miss "pot calling the kettle black". _

I roll my wolfy eyes. _Just go check it out. I'm only a few yards away from the house. Which direction is it?_

_East. Hold up for a sec._ Through Jacob's eyes, I can follow the scent like I'm right beside him. It's hard at first to learn how to filter the constant views in other people's minds from yours, so you don't end up getting confused and running into a stump or something. Which I've never done. Often.

_It smells kinda familiar now. Okay._ Jacob sounds utterly relieved.

And then he shuts up.

I cannot remember the last time Jake shut up in wolf form. Even when he was going through his manic-depressive faze with Mrs. Love Shield, trust me, he_ never_ shut up. I would know, I was the one who asked repeatedly for that little gift from God.

But now, he only does it for a second, and then it's all suddenly and forcefully: _NessieNessieNessieNessieholyshitNessieNessiefuckingshitNessieNessie._

And, because I have to know when something's gone wrong, it's a freakish tendency I have that usually ends up crushing me somehow, I tune into his little mind-view as quick as I can, slowing down so I don't trip over anything.

It's a leech, all right. Black hair, red eyes, deprived-of-tan skin. The works. It's nothing I haven't seen before.

Except that hair is the same shade as Nahuel's. Those eyes are the same shape. Those cheekbones are just as sharp.

That smell is almost the same.

I stumble backwards, resist the urge to howl as loudly as I can, and run to the house.

* * *

_a/n: _Sorry about the late-ish update! We started standardized testing this week, so I didn't have a lot of time to write over the weekend.

There were lots of questions last chapter, so here are the answers for anyone who asked:

_noamg:_ The venom is a problem for them because it wouldn't change a werewolf, it would kill them-- part of the whole "natural enemies" thing, I suppose. So Leah could never become a vampire (not, hopefully, that she'd want to ;)) because instead of affecting her system like it would a human's, it would poison her.

_chicita4488:_ There are theories in a lot of fics about whether or not Nessie could have kids. Obviously, instead of using Nessie here, I've used Mary-- and decided that it would make sense for her to menstruate. You'll learn more about that in later chapters, once Carlisle finds out about it and wants more information; things like when they started getting their periods, how the birthing of Mary's children went, and so on.

_OstentatiousQuerida:_ Wow, that's a really good question... and something you'll find out later as well ;). That and the reasons why Grace and Norah haven't gotten pregnant yet just to test that. Trust me, it freaks Joham out that his kids might be like mules-- the product of two species that can't reproduce themselves!

_Silver Scribes_: Actually, Nahuel's Mapuche, and the Mapuche people mostly live in Chile. But they have their own language, anyway: Mapudungun, which is something Huilen and Nahuel speak more naturally. When Joham came to South America, considering the time period, it would have made more sense for him to learn Spanish rather than Portuguese, because more countries speak Spanish. So that's what language Mary, Grace, and Norah grew up hearing. (Though I did decide rather early on that Nahuel can speak Portuguese as well-- the fact just hasn't come up yet :).)


	17. Chapter 17

Nahuel and his sisters chose a _really _bad time to have a fight.

I'm still tugging the straps of my sun dress up, hopping half on one foot because I managed to get a thorn-on-steroids stuck in the other, when Mind-Rapist slams open the front door. That's how I hear, from the dregs of the house, Grace yelling something that sounds scarily like, "Brother, you are dangerously close to forcing me to throw my shoe at your stupid head!"

I hop up onto the porch, cursing and pulling out the thorn. "What are they--"

"Nothing," Loch Nessie's dad snaps back before I can finish. How rude. He looks over the top of my head in an obvious and annoying way, scanning the trees. "Where is Joham?"

I shrug, still struggling with the frayed strap of my dress. "Jake saw him a few yards east. I don't know if he ran before he got recognized or phased back or what." And I don't know why I'm talking to Mind-Rapist without any malice, either. Maybe it's that old 'the enemy of my enemy is my friend' thing. Whatever. It's not like I want to dwell on it. Daddy Leech looks like he's about to run off looking for him, but I roll my eyes. "Dude, if he's only a few yards away, he _knows_ you're all here. There's no need to rush him and possibly incur his all mighty wrath."

Daddy Leech pinches the bridge of his nose. Why do people do that? "Fine. All right. You're right."

...Wait, what?

"I _said, _you're right. Trust me, I'm as shocked as you. Just... go inside and tell his-- children." He pauses for a second. "Please."

Well thank you for adding that courtesy. I know it must have been difficult.

His mouth twitches into something that resembles a grimace. Kind of. "Bella is with Nessie at the cottage." In their magical fairytale land... "We would prefer to keep it that way for as long as possible." I don't think he notices it when he starts pacing back and forth over the porch. Is he actually_ wringing _his hands?

What a wimp.

That thought goes ignored. Which is probably for the better.

"Fuckin' dress," I mutter, pulling the full length down over my legs, trying to get past Daddy Leech without inhaling any of his scent and also not causing oxygen deprivation. It is a very delicate and precise act. And it's also exactly when the door opens again, puking out another vamp.

...Wooh.

_Oh, _wait a sec, it _is _a cause for celebration, because _Huilen_ is the one who walks out. Christ. Don't I get, like, a reprieve from her?

I sigh. Apparently not. Her hair is braided all the way down her back, and it swings over her shoulder when she turns to look at me. I rub the arch of my foot, willing my super-wolf healing powers to kick in. Fucking thorns. Huilen clears her throat, giving me one more incredibly distasteful glance.

"I smell Joham," she announces.

"Way to state the obvious," I snap back, way past caring about rudeness. Can you blame me? Nahuel's _father _is here, he's going to be _so _pissed that his son isn't hiding away in a jungle anymore, and I am not exactly in a generous mood at the moment. Not that I ever am, but that's beside the point.

"I assume you'll be running a brush through your hair sometime in the near future?" she answers archly, the muscles in her cheeks clenching. "Nahuel's father dwells muchly on first impressions."

My eyes roll back unintentionally, and Daddy Leech stops his pacing for a second to stare at us. Yeah, get a video camera and put it on YouTube, why don't you? "Where's Nahuel?" I grind out, ignoring Huilen, which is way easier said than done. It's really hard _not _to notice a red-eyed woman with a foot long braid who looks about ready to rip out your throat.

"The dining room," Mind-Rapist says. "Talking with his sisters."

I really need to stop changing his nicknames-- it's getting confusing even for me. "You mean fighting?" I ask, and then fling open the door, slamming my way inside before he can answer. It was a rhetorical question, anyway.

Five minutes after going inside, I reach my conclusion:

This house was built to be a fucking _maze._

You would think the dining room would be by the kitchen, right? Yeah, you would think. And you would also think that with super senses it would be much easier to navigate towards where you wanted to go, but, hmm, unfortunately Grace doesn't seem to be in the mood for any more yelling, so I have no idea which way to turn. Every single effing hallway is like a carbon copy of the one I was in before, and it never stops smelling like vampire enough for me to pinpoint one that could tell me where the _hell_ my imprint is.

My irritation starts to reach it's peak when I wander into the same stupid little painting for the third time. It's hanging on the wall over an annoyingly tasteful table stacked with plants, which is even more annoying than the table itself. I can hardly ever keep plants alive for more than a week or two. I killed a _cactus,_ for God's sake-- you know, those plants that need to be watered, like, once a _month. _If that isn't pathetic, I don't know what it.

"Stupid plants," I mutter out loud, contemplating ripping a few leaves off to make them less pretty. How can blood-sucking vamps (as if there were any _other _kinds of vamps) manage to do so many damn things better than me?

"I think they're sort of pretty," a serene, quiet voice says from behind me, and I swear I jump about a foot. I turn around, nearly knocking over the plant by accident, anyway, and see the kid, leaning against the wall behind me, another book tucked under her arm. "But to each her own," she adds quickly, when I don't answer her. "I don't get to water the plants in our cottage anymore. I knocked the planter and the water pitcher over the last time I tried." She grimaces, and it looks kind of... wrong, on her face. "Daddy keeps the plants up high, now."

I really, really, _really _don't want to, but... I crack a smile. A tiny one, but it's still pretty glaringly present on my face. I can't help it. As soon as she notices, the kid's face lights up like a thousand-watt light bulb. "Is that funny?" she asks me.

"...A little," I admit, then jerk my head to the left before she can get any ideas. Like that this is an actual _conversation, _for starters. "Is the dining room that way?"

"You're looking for Nahuel, aren't you?"

What's the point in lying? "Yeah."

The kid tugs on a strand of her hair. "I'll take you to him. Is that okay?"

"As long as I don't have to wander around this fu... freaking house anymore, that'd be awesome." Must not swear in front of the impressionable child. But then again, what do I know? Maybe those books she carries around all the time are teeming with immorality. She starts off down the hallway in the exact direction I just came from, and then glances over her shoulder as soon as she can't hear me following.

"It's just over here. I promise."

I sigh, and start to walk after her. She would know the house, after all. I wonder if her voice is going to give out soon, from talking so much. Like she read my mind (well, who knows what other powers she's got hidden under her designer sleeves...), the kid blinks up at me, only turning a little now that I've caught up to her, and says, "I can show you the way, if you want. But Jacob says I have to use my words more. And that you don't like my showing."

I don't. I really, honestly don't. "Jacob was right."

The kid turns down a hallway I hadn't even noticed the first time around. "I'm sorry." She pauses, fiddling with the spine of the book that I can't see the title of. I resist the urge to tell her to spit it out. I do have s_ome _semblance of a conscious, thank you very much. "Nahuel's father is here, isn't he?"

Because I'm sure everyone's been s_o _good about keeping calm over this. I deicde it wold be better to just rip the unsureness off her like a Band-aid. "Yeah," I say, as she leads me through a wider, more brightly lit room. "He's here. Actually, Jake's probably talking to him now, since he hasn't burst through the door and taken you down to a bomb-shelter yet."

She giggles. It's something I don't expect to hear, since, well-- the kid's never seemed anything more than quietly contemplative before now. But it's gone before I can think about it more, and she looks up at me again. "Miss Leah?"

What am I, a kindergarten teacher? "Uh-huh?"

It's sort of freaky, but she bites her lip just the way I've seen her irritating mother do a thousand times around Mind-Rapist. Sometimes I forget that she's actually their _daughter. _"Is Nahuel's father going to want to meet me?"

I step carefully on the tiled floor. Tile is in kitchen and dining room's, right? So we've got to be close? "Um, probably." Then, before I can think better of it, I add, "Why?"

I'd never pegged the kid as one to dodge questions, but she says right back, "Have you seen him yet?"

What's up with the interest in Daddy Leech the First? It's not like she's known Nahuel long enough to be incredibly worried about what this means for him... but neither have I, I guess, except that I _do... _"Yeah," I answer, ducking under a particularly low-hanging ceiling fan. Hanging around her never fails to make me feel like a fucking Godzilla. "Through Jake. When I was phased. Why?" I try again. Needling always worked with everyone else in the pack.

Her hair's pulled up in one of those half-ponytails, and it shimmers weirdly in the sunlight from the window when she pauses so that I can walk right next to her. When she talks next, my wolf-hearing kicks in so I can understand her: "Is he... scary?" she asks, looking like she's chewing on the inside of her cheek, a pink flush working through her cheeks as soon as she says it.

Aw, man. How does everyone manage to forget that she's just a little kid?

"...Not really," I assure her after a second, trying to remember as best I can. Because I might not like her parents, and I might not like the_ idea _of her, or that she uses such a freaky-ass mind power all the time, but she's never actually _done _anything to me. Which is shockingly new. "I mean, he kinda looks like Nahuel. But his hair's stupid."

Her entire face brightens. Is it really that easy to placate a kid? "Really?"

"Yep. He doesn't have cool long hair like Nahuel. It's stupid and short. Lame."

Her tongue pushes on the roof her mouth; it's how I can tell she's trying to hide a smile. "Yes. That is _so_ lame."

I sigh. "We'll work on your slang later, kid. Um, are we almost to the dining room? Or are you just luring me off to eat me?"

"Not eat, drink," she corrects. Ex_cuse _me. Then she actually does smile, something I've seen in Jacob's head a million times but is definitely way different seeing in person. "Besides, you don't smell appealing."

"Wow, thanks."

Just like that, her eyes widen. "Did I hurt your feelings?"

Christ, she has more mood swings than a pregnant chick. "I was being sarcastic," I explain, and then notice that she's stopped moving. We're standing in front of a dark wood door, the kid rocking slowly on the balls of her feet, with voices murmuring inside the room. "So, this is, uh, it?" Please, let this be it.

She glances around. "It is."

There doen't appear to be a need in her brain to leave. "Well, yeah. Thanks for, er, guiding me. I'll just go in now."

The kid nods, finally backing up a little. "Have a pleasant time."

And then she skips off.

I take a second to shake my head. Kid's in for some serious therapy later in life, if being accosted by the Vampire Mafia and then poked and prodded by a mad-vamp-scientist counts towards insanity. Which it most likely does.

Then I decide to, y'know, open the damn door.

The ridiculously big crystal door knob almost shatters in my grip. Thaaat would not be good. I take a mental deep breath, to remind myself that yes, most things in life are breakable to me, and shove the door open. It doesn't creak in an ironic way, which is just unfortunate in my book. That most definitely would have rated high on the amusement scale.

The room I walk into is brightly lit-- or, not really lit, since the windows that stretch across each wall are _huge. _None of them stop at all, except to skip a little around the door frame, and even though it isn't sunny outside (but like that's new), it seems like these windows were specially made to suck in the sunlight. Seriously. All of it glints off the long table in the center of the room (that, for the record, I have no idea about the point of it. Why do they bother to furnish a room they use every, what, _never?_), standing at the head of which is Nahuel.

Maybe I would have normally paused for a moment to, I don't know, admire him? Not that he's an ancient painting or anything. But that's the general idea of what I tend to do when I see him again after we've been apart. Except now there's not exactly an opportune _moment _to do the whole pause-and-stare thing, because when he looks up and catches my eye I remember exactly why I came into a house the reeks of vamps.

"Your dad's here," I say, because there isn't any other way to put it, and I just want to get it out of the _way. _"Like, now. Officially."

That's the moment that Mary, Grace, and Norah finally capture my attention; the way they're gathered, not around, but _with _Nahuel. Their gazes flicker one by one toward me, and Mary's the only one who doesn't downcast her eyes immediately. Did I miss something here?

Nahuel nods then, drawing my attention. Always. "We have become aware. Edward heard your rather frantic thoughts."

Oh. Duh. To cover up my stupidity-induced embarrassment, I grope around for a question to ask. "Is there a reason you and Mary are the only ones looking at me?" is what pops out of my mouth.

Brilliant, Leah.

Instinct, I'll bet, is what makes Grace's eyes lift to mine the second I say it. "Pardon our manners," she murmurs, sounding absolutely _nothing _like the bravado-filled girl who threatened to throw her shoe at Nahuel's "stupid" head not even ten minutes ago. What the _hell? _Maybe it's their dad being here.

"It's-- cool," I tell her haltingly, still not exactly sure what there is to be _cool_ about it. But Nahuel smiles, and it makes the colors around me bloom brighter, just a little bit.

"We will speak of it at a later time," he says calmly. "Right, sister?"

How Mary knows he's talking to her, I have no clue "Of course," she answers, just as calm, but it only makes me think of the eye of a storm-- not really calm at all, just a good imitation. And maybe it's because I've spent so much time in defensive positions myself, but it looks like her fingers are clenched a little too hard; like the line of her jaw is so sharp because she's grinding her teeth together.

Oh, Christ, what _now? _

But apparently that's not a pertinent question at the moment, since Norah chooses right then to speak up. I think this is the grand total of two times that I've heard her use her voice. Mostly, Grace just seems to do the talking for everybody. "May we see Father now?" she asks, alternating between glancing at Mary and at Nahuel. Why does it seem like half the time those two are more used to acting like Grace and Norah's parents instead of their older brother and sister?

Norah's question flips a switch in the middle sister. "Yes! I want to see Father! Perhaps he has news of the nomads we saw!" she bubbles, her formality forgotten. I smile before I can help it. She's just _that_... well, that _cute, _even though she's probably older than my mother. Freaky.

Mary and Nahuel stare at each other and then nod in unison. They could probably pass for twins if they ever needed a cover story like the creepy Cullen's do (ignore that that sounds like a first-grader's insult. I'm tired and on edge, give me a freakin' break...). Even if Mary's skin is a little lighter than his. Actually, she's the lightest out of all of them, and Norah's the darkest. Huh. Now that I think about it, all their features sort of follow that pattern: one at the low end of the spectrum, one at the midpoint, one at the far end. Like how Grace's hair is curly, Mary's is wavy, and Norah's is bone-straight. Or how Mary has the darkest eyes, Norah the lightest, and Grace right in-between.

...And Nahuel fits in absolutely nowhere.

I can't dwell on that part much longer, because Grace sort of dances by, leading Norah by the arm and then grabbing mine. "Come, meet our father, new sister!" she grins. I could get used to that title. I turn back to Nahuel, who takes Mary's elbow and guides her to the place Grace is dragging Norah and I: the dining room door.

Show time.

--

Huilen is milling around on the porch when we get there, me for the second time today, with Grace babbling in my ear about their dad. Which is nice and all, for her to tell me, but what I really want to know about it their fight in the dining room. It doesn't look like I'm destined to know in the near future, unfortunately, since Norah sort of gravitates gently over to Huilen, apparently looking for some peace and quiet. I don't exactly blame her that much.

Daddy Leech is standing on the ground, leaning up against the porch railing just underneath where Mary has her arms folded. She knotted her hair up with a piece of ribbon that keeps slipping her ponytail lower every time she moves her head-- something that happens every few seconds. She's looking for Joham.

Grace detaches herself from me, having finished her dissertation on their dad, I guess, and folds herself up onto the porch steps, not talking for once. Nahuel stands half behind me, his palms ghosting over my arms. Why, _why_ did I go home last night? It's hard to remember. Lots of things are when he's around.

"Are you nervous?" he asks quietly. And I sort of love him a lot for not assuming that I'm _not, _just because I'm _Leah. _The guys seem to do that most of the time, as if nothing fazes me. Which, well, most things _don't--_ but this? This... kind of does.

"Sort of," I admit, because I can't help but admit things to him. "When's the last time you saw him?" I add, mostly to take the heat off me. Out of the corner of my eye, Mary inclines her head maybe a fraction of an inch towards us; like she knows that's exactly what I'm doing.

For all I know, Nahuel does too. He and Mary are enough alike already. "When Norah was several days old," he says. I hear him inhaling the scent of... me? My hair? My skin? Whatever. At least I smell nice to him, hopefully half as nice as he does to me.

"How old is she?" I ask distractedly, trying to remember his story in the meadow. It seems like forever ago, even if it can't have been more than three weeks. Time flies by when you imprint, apparently. "Like, eighteen, right?"

"She will be in the summer time," Nahuel confirms. I feel him take a small step closer to me, and lean back the tinest bit. Is it wrong to feel completely... safe? "But she's visited me on her own before. All of them have, whenever they've been angry with Father."

For some reason that surprises me. "They get pissed at him?"

"They do." And then the tone of his voice turns so sharp and so biting, and so suddenly, that it's hard for me not to label it... _bitter. _"But they go back, of course. They always go back."

I'm about to ask about that. Really, I mean, can you _not _tell there's a huge, elephant-in-the-middle-of-the-room story there? Except right then is when I get the second taste of that scent, half Nahuel and half something insanely, undeniably _rotting_ that mixes in with it.

Joham.

It's probably the only synchronized thing we'll ever do, but Huilen and I start at the same time, me accidently pushing Nahuel back, and I make a mental note to apologize about that later. Hmm. When did I start apologizing?

"Thank you ever so much for heeding my advice regarding hair brushing," she snaps as soon as she realizes that I moved at the same time that she did. Touchy, touchy.

"And thank you ever so much for showing me where Nahuel gets his sarcasm from," I hiss back, not the best retort, but thinking on my feet is always easier when there's not a totally new vampire showing up who just happens to have fathered my soul mate. Which makes the whole meet-the-parents thing about a thousand times more awkward than normal.

Daddy Leech is up on the porch with us in an instant, carefully stepping over Grace, who is staring expectantly at the patch of trees just ahead of her. Which, utterly anti-climactically, Jacob stalks out of right then. Cut-off's torn in a few new places, breathing hard, but generally intact. Good, great, whatever. He mouths "where's Nessie?" at me, but I don't answer, because Joham follows right behind him.

I take in a million things about him at once. _Leech, vampire, kill him, _runs immediately through my mind, unsurprisingly. Jake and I might have imprinted on half of them, but we're still basically programmed to want to rip them apart, which could get interesting at family reunions.

My eyes work way too fast for my brain to cooperate. I get flashes of him before I can piece together the entire picture: really tall, _so _tall, dark black hair, curling over his ears exactly the way Grace's does, eyes too wide to look evil even if they are red...

He's wearing a suit. A nice one, the kind you'd see on the CEO of a big, multi-million dollar company. And there aren't any bloodstains on it-- I can definitely tell, because the first thing he does is move so quickly that even with my way above-average sight he pretty much _appears _right in front of me. I take a step back; instinct, closer to Nahuel, but I'm not sure if it's to protect him or have him protect me.

For whatever reason, that move makes Joham's mouth curve up into chillingly disarming smile.

"My dear," he says, and his voice it velvet spiked with glass. I let him take my hand because Nahuel has his in my hair, running through the tangles in what I can tell is an attempt to relax me, to let me know that this won't end badly, not here, on this porch. Icy lips on the back of my hand run straight through to my palm. I almost burn with the desire to jump away, to crouch, to _phase. _

"How nice," Joham smiles, all sharp, pointed teeth, "to meet the woman who has captured my son's rather elusive affections."

He kisses my hand one more time: a reassurance, that I'm almost sure disguises a threat.


	18. Chapter 18

"Father, I know I haven't the proficiency at social interaction that you do, but I hear it is rather odd to hold a strange woman's hand for a full minute after being introduced. In fact, it may veer somewhat into sexual harassment, if I am not mistaken."

Joham frowns at Nahuel, while I attempt not to snort. Take that, jackass. "Wonderful to know that romance has not quelled your inappropriate sarcasm, my son," he returns coolly, turning my struggle into one to not roll my eyes. _My son. _Because he _so _raised him, instead of just knocking up his mom and leaving her to die.

And I reiterate: _How_ have they not been on Jerry Springer yet?

Luckily for me, and for my hand, which I'm about three seconds away from forcibly ripping out of Joham's cold creepy grasp, Grace interrupts our little threesome from hell by skipping over. The hem of her gauzy dress swirls over her knees as she tilts her face up expectantly— her dad kisses her lips in an obliging sort of way. "Father," she chirps when he pulls away, "is this not a lovely home?"

He gives the house (_cough,_ mansion) an appraising glance, looking pretty much unimpressed. "It has its fine points," he admits, and smiles that freaky smile he has, curling his fingers in Norah's direction. "But ours is much preferable, am I correct?"

I grimace while Grace rushes to assure him that their house is way better than the Cullen's. Manipulative fucker. Norah floats over and tilts her head up the same as her sister had. After she gets her kiss from Joham, she puts her tiny hand on the dark sleeve of his suit. "You have not met Edward," she reminds him, stretching her neck out to Daddy Leech. Nahuel keeps his hands on my arms, holding onto me from behind. I try to lean into him without being obvious about, but my quite excellent (if I do say so myself— which I do) peripheral vision makes it obvious that Huilen's staring at me and isn't going to stop anytime soon.

I'm honestly tempted to turn around and start making out with Nahuel just to spite her, but I have a feeling that Joham wouldn't take that too well.

"Hello," Daddy Leech says formally, stepping up onto the porch and holding his hand out. Joham takes it, shaking with practiced politeness. "My name is Edward Cullen. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Liar. You want him to get the fuck out.

"Ah... you are the creator of my children's brethren, are you not?" Joham's eyes, red as Huilen's, light up with _something _as he asks. I catch Daddy Leech's barely there flinch.

"I am her father," he corrects quietly. Way to poke a bear with a stick, man.

Joham raises one thin, ink-black eyebrow. "Of course. Forgive me."

They both continue on like that, Nahuel's dad making annoying comments and Nessie's dad gritting his teeth and being annoyingly polite. Ugh. Why don't they just get into a slap fight already? Everybody knows they're going to, eventually. Mary stays leaning over the porch railing, only glancing at her dad, and Huilen stands what appears to be as far away from Joham as she can get, with her arms folded over her chest, the long sleeves of her dress half-covering her hands. Really? She's the one who _called him here_ and she's trying to avoid talking to him? Come on, now.

"Huilen!" Ha, what now? Joham turns completely away from Daddy Leech (and it's starting to get really awkward calling him that, now— the "leech" part, I guess. Damn), which is probably not the best manners. Then again, I highly doubt Nahuel's dad is the poster child for manners. 'Oh, hey, young innocent human woman? Why don't I impregnate you with my baby and then let you die in the horrendous childbirth? But sorry about that last bit!'

Yeah, I can so imagine that going down.

Huilen takes a step forward, staring him right in the eyes. At least she's not a wimp about it, I'll give her that. "Joham."

He smiles at her, and I can see just how that one smile could seduce a human woman. In a detached kind of way, I can see it, mostly because I know that behind it is nothing but a scheme to create his perfect race. "You have not changed," he tells her, reaching out to take her hand. A disgusted look crosses her face, and I almost snicker. "Still beautiful. But why not take your pretty hair down from that awful braid?"

I feel Nahuel stiffen behind me, and Norah rolls her eyes. Huilen jerks her hand back, answering dryly, "Because that would probably please you, and hell would be required to freeze over before I let that happen purposefully."

Excuse me, Embry moment— oh, _burn. _I turn my neck and press my mouth into Nahuel's shoulder so I don't burst out laughing. Grace, however, manages to let out a giggle before Joham sighs and shakes his head, the perfect picture of disappointment.

"Ah, Huilen, your harsh words…"

"Please stop being utterly hypocritical," she says testily, backing up a step. "Go greet your son, and do refrain from making any more comments towards me."

For a split second, something like a thundercloud passes over Joham's face— but then it's gone, and he turns away from her with an accommodating half-smile. "As you wish it, my dear. Nahuel! Do tear yourself away from your mate, though she is a beauty. Come and stand with me."

"No thank you," Nahuel declines easily. His hands hook over mine, and I take them with a ridiculously happy sigh.

Joham stares at us, something coldly calculating making my whole body go rigid. Instinct is definitely worse with him than with Huilen— at least with her, I can sort of rationalize with the fact she took care of her nephew for so long, so she's not _completely _evil. With him… I just sort of want to claw his _face _off. Which could make family reunions extremely awkward.

Fortunately, Joham doesn't say anything else to Nahuel. He just looks around, eyes lighting on Mary, the only one he hasn't talked to at all yet. "Daughter! Come, come, let me see you. I've missed you," he enthuses, even though they can't have been apart for more than two days. Mary pushes herself away from the railing, walking over to her dad and slipping underneath his arm in a move so fluid I can tell they've been doing it for decades. He smoothes a hand through her dark hair, tilting his chin towards Daddy Lee… _Ed_ward. _Edward. _Right.

"I hope this isn't terribly presumptuous of me… but I would very much like to meet the rest of your family."

Of course he would. I mean, it's not going to be a truly perfect day until he finds somebody else to seduce.

Edward nods once, twice. "Of course. Please come inside. I'm sure my wife and daughter are just in the living room."

I can so totally hear the '_Even though I told them to stay in the freakin' cottage_' tacked onto that.

He opens the door to the house, Joham keeping Mary under his arm as he follows. Nahuel and I trail after them, and I try not to think about the distinctly predatorial look on his dad's face.

* * *

Apparently, Grace has a thing for milk. Who knew?

"It's _good,_" she insists, all but shoving the glass in Norah's face. "Really, sister, you're simply boring. Try it."

"Stop it, I won't." Norah sinks closer to me on the couch, grimacing. "It smells horrid."

"So do those little melons you like to eat, but I don't make fun of you…"

"They're called grapes, and yes, you do!"

"Well, that's because they're _disgusting._"

"_Une salope_," Norah mutters, unthinkingly pressing her face into my arm. I raise my eyebrows.

"Care to translate?"

Grace rolls her eyes, taking another drink of milk from the tall glass Esme gave her. "It's French. Naughty language, little sister," she taunts in singsong.

I glance down at the youngest girl. "You know French?" They should all really stop surprising me by now.

"Norah's fluent in seventeen languages," Grace brags, running her finger over the edge of the coffee table. "Aren't you?"

Norah looks like she'd be much happier if she could sink into the floor. "Yes."

"_Seventeen?_" I choke out. "Seriously? _Damn_, and I almost failed French when they made us take it in seventh grade."

Grace laughs (it's a weird, wind-chime kinda sound), and takes another sip of milk. "Norah can converse in French, Italian, Portuguese, Russian, German, Welsh, Gaelic, Icelandic, Swedish, Polish—"

"All _right,_ Gracie," Norah snaps, looking about five languages away from shoving her hand over her sister's mouth. Then she makes an apologetic face at me. "I'm sorry. Gracie and Mary have a difficult time knowing when to stop being so proud of my fluencies."

"It's only because we don't have the patience to sit around, reading and re-reading dull books and memorizing grammatical rules," Grace protests, slipping her empty glass into the table. She props her elbows on it, and they both start in on another debate about whether or not Grace has enough education, considering that she doesn't like just lying around reading. I let them go on as long as they want. They'd be pretty entertaining to listen to, if I didn't have other stuff on my mind.

Nahuel, Mary, and Joham left to go hunting. And by "hunting", yes, I do mean for blood of the animal variety— though I gathered that Mary and Joham weren't too happy about that part. But whatever, they can curse me out over it if they want, as long as they aren't killing humans. It's creepy enough to think about Nahuel doing it for all of those years, even though I usually try to steer my mind away from those thoughts.

Edward, his skanky wife, Esme, Carlisle, and Huilen are currently in the same dining room that I couldn't for the life of me find this morning. I would have sat in there with them, but all they're doing is going over and over Joham's introduction to everybody, which gets boring after awhile. Blondie and her husband took the kid out to play in the woods (perfect place to play, no?), and Seth called a little while ago to say he heard from Jake that Nahuel's dad was here and that he was catching all the Elder's up on the situation. How awesome is it to have a brother who remembers that somebody would need to do that?

Anyway… the intros to the family went shockingly okay. I mean, Joham's face lit up in a creepy way when the kid got carried in by her mom, who patently refused to sit her down the entire time he was in the house. I think she wanted to show him something with her freaky-ass mind powers, but Edward warned her not to try it.

And don't think I didn't notice the fact that their dad kept looking back and forth between Nahuel and the kid. Repeatedly. Over and over.

Ugh.

Nahuel noticed, thankfully— or so I assumed when he only smirked at his dad when I threw one of my legs over his while we were sitting together on the couch. Because I just love to piss people off and whatnot.

And also the fact that my sex drive has apparently risen up from whatever bush it's been hiding behind for the past three years.

Grace and Norah are still arguing, albeit not very seriously, when I stifle a yawn. My fault for skipping out on sleep last night at Embry's. They both laugh softly, so close in sound that I can't differentiate the two, as my eyes flutter closed. I can rest for awhile, right?


	19. Chapter 19

I wake up after half an hour, which is really just a pathetic excuse for a nap. Grace and Norah have apparently abandoned their fight and are instead puzzling over the Lite-Brite sitting in the corner— the present Emily sent the kid for Christmas, trying to be democratic, obviously not realizing that she was giving it to a two year old who read Sylvia Plath and used words like 'malignant' in daily conversations.

"Hey," I yawn, sitting up and kicking off the blanket that used to be draped over the couch but is now settled across my lap. "What up with the blanket?"

"That was Norah's doing," Grace chimes, poking at the Lite-Brite with her pinky. "What is this machine?"

"Lite-Brite. You stick in the pegs, flip the switch, it lights up."

Norah glances at me. "And the point of this is…?"

I shrug, swinging my legs onto the coffee table. "Hell if I know."

That's all it takes, of course, to get Grace started on messing with it. I watch her throw a few pegs down the front of Norah's shirt when her younger sister starts telling her she's doing it wrong, and then finally roll my eyes and crawl over to sit beside them. Really, they're better than cable. I lean back against the wall, folding my arms over my knees.

"So," I ask after a few minutes of observing Grace create a painstaking portrait of herself on the Lite-Brite screen. "When's, you know, your dad coming back?"

Norah squirms on her stomach, head resting on Grace's thigh. "You mean, 'when is Nahuel going to be back?'" she smirks.

"Yeah, basically."

Then she asks, in an honestly curious voice, "Why do you and Nahuel adore one another so?"

I shift my legs, I think letting a grimace slip through. Aw, man. Is there a way to make this a _not _awkward conversation? 'So, I sort of have a wolf-y connection to your older brother. It means I can never leave him and think he's the epitome of perfection and, oh yeah, it happened when I first saw him.'

'Cause thaaat's not creepy.

"We-e-e-ll," I drag out, even as Grace abandons the Lite-Brite to wind the multicolored pegs into Norah's hair. "I sort of…" Just spit it out, right? "…imprinted on him."

Their eyes slide to each other's and then back to me. "You mean like a gosling?" Norah ventures.

"Um… no, last I checked, I was not an infant goose…"

Norah crinkles her eyebrows together. "But there was a study in which a grown man was able to make goslings imprint upon him. They followed him everywhere."

Oh, Christ. "You mean our ancestors named it after a process _geese _go through?!"

What idiots. Not that they aren't awesome and my ancient family and whatever… but still. Idiots. I am not a goose. Then again, I was also pretty damn sure I didn't mutate into a giant wolf… and that didn't exactly turn out to be so correct.

Right, I am _so _gonna be pissed if I start shifting into a humongous goose.

Grace giggles, going back to her creation of what I think is a headband of Lite-Brite pegs decorating Norah's hair. "That's amusing. So you're like a baby goose, and Nahuel is… sister, what do you call a goose-keeper?"

"Just a goose-keeper, I suppose, I don't think there's really a technical term for it."

"He's not my goose-keeper!" Because that isn't a weird sentence. I shrug it off, muttering, "Anyway, lots of wolves imprint. A freakish amount, actually. Jacob imprinted on the ki— on Nessie."

"Really?" Norah asks, propping her chin in her palm. "But she's only a baby!"

"No, sister dear, that would be _you,_" Grace contradicts, running her fingers through Norah's hair to ease out the tangles. Norah frowns, shoving her hand away.

"They always call me 'the baby'," she complains, "just because I'm naught but seventeen."

"Well, you gotta admit, in comparison to Nahuel, you sort of are," I point out, and then realize— "How old are you and Mary, anyway, Grace?" How do I not know this?

Grace only bobs her narrow shoulders up and down, still messing with her sister's hair. "Mary is one-hundred twenty-something. Nahuel would know the exact number. I'm seventy-four." All of a sudden her face brightens; a peg catches on a strand of Norah's hair. "I was born in springtime, Norah in summertime, and Mary in wintertime. We're seasonal!"

Yeah, that. I lean forward, reaching out to carefully untangle said peg that Grace has abandoned. Norah winces, tilting her head towards me. "When was Nahuel born, then?" I ask. I wonder if they even know.

Does _he _even know?

Grace confirms my last thought with an emphatic shrug, reaching for another handful of Lite-Brite pegs. "We do not know. But I hope it was in autumn. That would be perfect!"

Uh-huh. I open my mouth to ask why they don't just make one up (well, why _don't _they?), but Norah says first, "Father doesn't care much about our birthdates. And the only reason Gracie and I do is because Nahuel sends us a gift on ours."

"Really?" I finally give in to temptation and reach out for my own handful of pegs, weaving them as best I can into a section of Norah's sleek, straight hair. "I wasn't aware that the jungle had such a plethora of available gifts."

"He sends us books, mostly," Grace tells me, "because that's the only thing he can take from the villages without drawing too much attention."

_Take? _Wonderful, I imprinted on a shoplifter. But the imprint-logic has to kick in the moment I think that, of course, pointing out that there really isn't any other was he's going to get them things… because I'm sure being the only male half-vampire on the face of the Earth pays _so_ well.

"You know, there are several libraries throughout South America that are missing a few dozen volumes thanks to Nahuel," Norah adds, apparently not bothered by me and her sister's misguided attempts at playing with her hair. "But I digress."

We talk for a while after that. I lose track of most of the conversation, since Grace and Norah's tangents usually dissolve into arguments that fizzle into kind disagreements. Incredibly confusing to follow, so I pretty much braid more Lite-Brite pegs into Norah's by-now demented hairdo, thanks to the crown of said pegs Grace managed to create.

How long have the other three been gone? It can't take that long to take down a few bears and gulp their blood. Seriously. I sigh, nudging Norah's temple with my foot. Maybe it's some weird form of family bonding. I wouldn't know; I don't often go out to eat and end up decimating the animal population. Maybe—

"Knock, knock," a (highly annoying) voice calls, in what appears to be an attempt at sing-song. Oh, yay, vamp company. That will make me feel oodles better.

Bella sweeps into the room, apparently unable to resist doing so when she knows she won't trip twenty-three times trying. "Mind if we join you? Renesmee wanted to see Grace and Norah again. Oh, are you having fun with the Lite-Brite? Looks like it. I keep trying to get Renesmee to play with it, but, well, you know—"

Christ. Can she not just come in, dump the kid, and leave? Any normal mother actually wants to get _away _from their child every so often. But God forbid the small delicate half-vampire is exposed to immoral influences. I snort. Bella pauses in her rambles, staring at me.

"I'm sorry?" she says uncertainly. "I didn't…"

Great, now she thinks I'm pissed at her. Which, okay, I _am,_ but that's pretty much a natural state with her. I can't _not _be pissed at Bella Cullen, okay?

Norah interrupts Bella's stuttering apologies. Why is she apologizing if she doesn't know what she did wrong? Idiot. "May I see the baby?" Norah asks sweetly, scrabbling up from her stomach in a way that still looks completely graceful. The circles of Lite-Brite pegs in her hair catch the light, making weird swirls of color stream over her face. The kid reaches out, fascinated, and Bella purses her lips.

"Sure thing. Do you want to see Norah, sweetheart?" she croons at her daughter, swinging the kid off her hip and into Norah's open arms. Why does she carry the kid everywhere? Honestly, I think she's been able to walk since an hour after she was born. It's not that much of a challenge.

While Bella crosses her arms uncomfortably (oh no, she's without anyone to attach herself to! How will she survive this _independence?_), the kid reaches up to pat Norah's cheek.

Grace sighs. "She has such a nice, un-mockable power…"

"Do people mock yours often?" I can't help but asking. What can I say? I'm a curious person.

"_Yes,_" she says emphatically, leaning over to stroke the kid's curls, cooing at her for a few seconds. She continues, "Mary and Nahuel and Norah… They don't think it's real. Father does, though," she adds cheerfully. "He thinks it's a good power. He says so all the time."

"Shocker." Really, judging by their gorgeous dresses, along with Joham's ridiculously expensive-looking suit and his apparent endless praise, I can bet that if the girls weren't so sweet to begin with they'd be spoiled brats. Or, hell, maybe they are and I'm just not seeing it. Whatever.

Bella sinks down onto the floor across from Norah and the kid, who has also got Grace fawning over her now. Why everyone falls in love with her, I don't know. Personally, I think Mary's prettier than she is, but…

"So, Leah." So, Bella. Shut up. But I grit my teeth and face her anyway. Nothing like the guise of politeness. "You're getting along with Grace and Norah?"

"No, actually, we were having a bitch-fight right before you walked in."

The reaction I get from Bella-Skank is instantaneous: she looks like she wants to wag her finger in my face and say, 'naughty, naughty.' Has the woman never heard of swear words and sarcasm? "Oh, Leah, please don't— in front of Renesmee, I mean— it's just, she absorbs things so easily, and—"

I decide to take pity on her and wave those inane ramblings off with, "Yeah, no swearing in front of the kid. I get it."

Bella opens her mouth like she's going to scold me for referring to her precious daughter as 'the kid', but thinks better of it and just sits there awkwardly instead. Oh, if only she knew how I've practically christened the kid… well, The Kid. Shut up, it's better than _Renesmee. _

I watch Grace and Norah playing with her, Grace getting to have even more Lite-Brite fun with the kid's hair. Y'know, I should probably start calling her by an actual name one of these days— I think Jake's starting to sort of resent me deeply for the 'the kid' thing. (Not that he didn't before, but whatever.) I could just call her Nessie like everyone in the world except her mother (and Nahuel, for some reason. Maybe that's why Bella-Skank likes him so much; he's the only other person who uses her given name), but that's too lame and boring for me.

"Hey, kiiiii…Renesmee," I say, switching gears quickly in the middle of the sentence. Nice save, Leah. She looks at me, widening her already huge eyes. Haha, I have the most awesome nickname on the face of the _Earth. _"Can I call you Nesserella? Is that cool with you?"

I'm not sure, but I think Bella makes a kind of "eek" noise. The kid stares up at me, Grace's tiny hands still braiding Lite-Brite pegs into the dips and waves of her curls. "Do you mean like Cinderella?" she asks.

"Yes, Jacob let her watch that a few nights ago," Bella interrupts, frowning at the thought. Oh my _God, _not _Cinderella. _How could Jacob let her small child who appears to be two and a half years old watch a _cartoon Disney movie? _She should obviously be reading e.e. cummings and translating Romeo and Juliet into ancient Greek instead.

I roll my eyes at her freakish mother and assure the kid, "Yep, like Cinderella. You cool with that?"

She gives me a blinding grin in response, a la toothpaste commercial. "I am!" Then, because she apparently got whatever gene of Awesome is recessive in both of her parents, turns to Bella and goes, "Momma! Miss Leah said she's going to call me Nesserella now. Like Cinderella! Isn't that neat?"

_No, Renesmee, _I can hear Bella-Skank thinking vehemently, _it is not neat. Miss Leah is of the devil and wants to eat your face._

Which, for the record, no, Bella, I do not want to eat your daughter's face. It has too many carbs.

"Look, _querida,_" Grace croons then, effectively stopping me from being even more rude to Bella (than I usually am, I mean). "Your hair is pretty now, like Norah's!"

Nesserella's (I love that name. So much. _Nesserella, Nesserella, night and day it's Nesserella…_ oh, Jacob will kill me, but whatever) hands fly up to the sides of her hair, patting at the Lite-Brite pegs that are knotted surprisingly well there. It actually looks pretty cool. She grins her toothy little grin, nuzzling Norah's hand.

"Momma, will you take a picture of me?" she pleads softly, as Grace drops a kiss to the crown of her head. So much physical contact…

Bella doesn't get a chance to answer. Not that I mind, her voice is as annoying as her presence in my life. But I think she might have tried to say something back, except her words are drowned out with Grace crying, "Father's back!"

Which is promptly followed by Norah standing up, balancing Nesserella on her hip, and gleefully announcing, "Mary's back!"

Which means I finally tune into the scents that are starting to edge their way through the house and the murmur of voices in the hallway that mean…

"Nahuel's back," I mutter, letting Grace tug me to my feet much more easily than a small, slender girl should be able to. I see Bella reach for Nesserella, intent on, what, returning her to the safety of mothering arms? As if Joham would honestly want her badly enough to attack his own daughter?

…Well, okay, he might. I don't know how his freakish mind works.

Whatever. Yeah, Joham, made of suck, don't care about him. Grace bounces beside me, grabbing onto my elbow and murmuring, "Why have they been gone so long? Stupid lizards."

…Stupid _lizards?_

Wow, thank you Grace, make me nearly choke on my own laughter, why don't you. I'm sure that looks so _very _attractive when Joham, Mary, and Nahuel walk through the door that Bella left wide open— and I _swear_ there needs to be a hologram cape billowing behind Joham as he struts in. Like a demented rooster.

Mary steps forward immediately, stamping kisses on Grace and Norah's foreheads, and Nahuel follows with the same motions. The two younger girls hurry over to Joham, while I feel perfectly entitled to my own kiss from Nahuel. Which I get, thank you very much.

"Are you sufficiently hydrated now?" I ask after we pull away, trying not to feel self-conscious because my arms are still around his neck. I mean, I doubt the girls will start thinking I'm a whore or anything, but…

"Very," he confirms. There's a small pause, barely long enough for me to pick up on, before he continues, "We had a disagreement in the beginning, but it has been resolved."

I'm sure my voice comes out just a little sharper than I mean for it to. "A disagreement about _what?_"

Now, keep in mind that throughout this exchange, we are basically in our own little world. That standard couple pose, you know, with the arms around the neck and the hands on the waist and… yeah. So this means that I _do not appreciate it _when Joham waltzes over and _pats _my goddamn _hair. _

I am not three years old, nor am I an adorable house pet. There's this rule most people have: it's called, '_Hey creepy perv, do not touch my body in any way, shape or form, this is like giving me permission to kick you in the _nuts._'_

It also, possibly, just might have, maybe, a tiny bit to do with the fact that… Dad used to do that all the time. Pat my hair, I mean. When I was randomly passing by or whatever, just reach out and pat it down, and I'd whine about him messing up my hairstyle, and...

Whatever. Doesn't matter. Point? This right here:

"Dude! _Not _okay. Don't touch me, it's creepy and annoying," I snap at Joham, doing some sort of spastic twitch with my neck to get his hand fucking _away _from me.

Cue everyone staring at me like I just spewed forth Rosemary's baby.

Joham clears his throat. Oh, shut up, you're a freaking _vampire, _there is no phlegm in your throat, jackass. "I apologize for upsetting you, my dear," he tells me, slowly lowering his hand, as if sudden movements will cause me to attack. Well, helloooo condescending nature shining forth. "Nahuel, your mate seems very… particular about physical contact," he says to his son. "Does this not worry you?"

God love Nahuel. "Not really," he shrugs. "I would think anyone would be particular about strange men running hands through their hair for no apparent reason."

I smirk, biting back my laugh-o'-snark, and slide my own hands down his arms. Yeah, my imprint? Is made of _awesome. _If you sold awesome in a bottle? Nahuel's face would be on the package. I kid you not.

For half-a-second after Nahuel says it, Joham looks absolutely _murderous. _Red eyes coupled with an 'I will kill you in your sleep' glare do not mix well. But he smoothes it over so easily that I have trouble remembering it was there at all— and that's what worries me.

"Oh, son," he chuckles, like Nahuel is some stupid kid who asked a really idiotic question. "You and your mate are perfectly matched, it appears."

"Yeeeah," I say archly. When in reality what I mean is, _Let's get to the fuckin' point, douchebag. _I just do double meanings like that. "So, disagreement? Y'know, that thing we were talking about before my personal space was violated?" Okay, I should stop pushing it now.

Like, right now.

…Aaaand, now.

That effortless smile is still perfectly in place, but Joham leans forward a little as he answer… which shows off the sharpened cut of his teeth, the glinting in his eyes. "Ah, my dear!"

Call me 'dear' one more time, bastard… From the corner of my eye I catch Bella, still holding Nesserella, slip out of the still-open door as fluidly as she can, obviously trying desperately to avoid the confrontation. Bitch. I'm busy seething over this for such a long moment that I almost don't catch Joham looking up, raising eyebrows at Nahuel, and responding to his nod with, "This strange diet you have managed to entice my son into living on…. Oh, dear, surely you can see the pitfalls."

I stare at him, not exactly able to come up with one of those handy complete sentences yet. Oh, shit. This is about the _animal _thing?

So, naturally, because I'm just that shocked (and I really don't know why— come _on, _now, Leah), the first thing that pops out of my mouth is, "I did not _entice _him, I did not strip while saying'animal blood is awesome!' That would be considered enticing, and trust me, I'm pretty sure he'd remember that!"

I pause. Hey there awkward silence, what's up?

Um. I'm about to consider going somewhere to die, but then I catch Grace with her knuckles to her mouth— because she's trying desperately to hide her smile. And it's a pretty ridiculous thing to think (or as Huilen, who is starting to look more and more pleasant the longer I spend with Joham, would say, _ridículo_), but… at least there's one sister with a foot in my corner, right?

Right.

Joham just… looks at me. "Mhmmm," he hums, glancing at Nahuel.

Who, if you remember, is the face of awesome, because he just shrugs and goes, "Well, I _would._"

Fuckin' _burn. _I press my lips into a tight line so I'm not tempted to laugh in Joham's creepy face. He hasn't moved, that weird, vampire-still where they look positively frozen, but Mary makes a strangled sort of noise in the back of her throat. That breaks him out of, what, plotting my death? (I'm sure he is, actually. I have that effect on people.) Then he smiles, that same smile that could lure a human woman to her death.

"My choice of vocabulary aside," he redirects smoothly, how he does everything, it seems like; smooth, easy, seamlessly— "surely you can see, my dear, how this dietary choice presents problems for the rest of our family."

Yeah, you wanna chomp on some homo-sapiens instead. I get that.

But I can be grown-up sometimes, so I admit evenly, "I know. But if I didn't ask Nahuel to do it, the Cullen's would have. You can't hunt for humans inside Washington." Because that's how they roll.

Grace steps forward, uncertainly, twining a curl of hair through her fingers. "You don't wish for us to hunt humans?" she asks, her voice almost wounded and definitely, incredibly, confused. I guess no one informed her and Norah about this little uptake— and I swear I can see her opinion of me dipping farther down every second. She turns to Nahuel next, apparently the one most likely to answer her question of, "But why?"

Ladies and Gentlemen: the million dollar question. How do you explain the fact that something is wrong to a person who's been doing it their whole life?

Nahuel hesitates for a second. I can tell from the smirk on Joham's face that he thinks this means his son has no response, but then Nahuel seems to come up with the best way to word it. You can bet I wouldn't have. "Because," he answers Grace, "we are not better than the humans."

Cricket. Cricket.

Mary snaps first, and she snaps _quick._ "Brother, was the last person you drank from an alcoholic?" she asks, something like a sneer scarring her face.

"You know full well what I mean, sister," he says back, still calm, but there's an edge in his voice that grinds down the words. "We have no right to play God and decide when to cut lives short."

I expect Joham to cut in then (since, y'know, he's so sure that's he's God and everything), but… he seems perfectly happy to let Mary keep going at it. "Truly? You speak of _God? _Your people ridicule the Christian's God! Why don't you save your hypocrisy for—"

"I'm not being hypocritical," Nahuel snaps, irritation finally showing. "I am saying—"

"Not hypocritical? One hundred fifty years of human blood and now you call us megalomaniacs _playing God_—"

"Well, do excuse me for not being aware of another way of life! I wasn't sent to the villages and the cities, sister, like you were! I caught glimpses of humans from behind trees and the cover of leaves— no hope of finding vampires like Aunt Huilen—"

"You cannot deny your nature, brother!" Mary hisses, spots of color flushing her cheeks. "Why have animals when you could have humans?"

"Why take human life when you are offered another path?" Nahuel counters.

"Why _not_ take human life?! It isn't as if their death will affect the world!"

"Hey," I interrupt, and then curse loudly and inwardly. Hey, brain? Yeah, _bad _fucking idea. Let's _not _interrupt the fighting siblings, that is a plan of _suck._

…Except, whoops, kinda too late. Mary's glaring at me, Nahuel's staring at me, Joham is observing the entire thing like he's having a night at the theatre, and Grace and Norah are hanging behind him, watching with a sort of awe. So I really have no choice but to go on, "That's not true. Killing somebody _does _affect the world."

I pause, waiting for somebody to burst out with "LIES!" When it doesn't happen, I keep talking, trying desperately to get it all out before I'm cut off. "Every single person you kill has a family. A husband or a wife or a mom or a kid or… just, _anyone_. And _their _whole world is torn apart when they find this dead person and don't know how it happened. I promise. Everyone has someone who loved them."

"Then they are perfectly capable of getting a new spouse," Mary informs me, and I can suddenly see that blinding arrogance that I'd expected them to have all along. "Or— having a new baby."

Did she stumble over that last part? I try to replay it in my mind, but it's useless because then she's snapping, "Human's procreate. It's natural. There are plenty of others to choose from."

Does she honestly believe that? "Yeah, but none of them are the _same,_" I point out. "They could get someone _similar _to the person you killed… but no one is ever exactly the same."

Mary shrugs. It's a violent motion. "They are close enough."

Okay, _what? _I can feel the beginning of me about to go _off, _tell her _exactly _how wrong she is, but Nahuel rubs his thumb over the palm of my hand and says first, "Sister, that's ridiculous."

Thank you. It very much is.

Mary raises an eyebrow, scarily reminiscent of Joham. "How so?" she asks.

"That's like saying it is okay for a vampire to— and do excuse the example, baby sister —come and feed from Norah. That you would not care, since it would be easy enough to get a replacement."

Norah's eyes widen as he says it; I don't blame her. Because, even though I never would have thought to put it that way… that's _exactly _what Mary's saying. She obviously didn't think so, though, since her mouth opens the tiniest bit.

"Of course not! Don't be dense, brother, you are twisting my words—"

Even I can tell that she's getting riled up now, which means I guess it shouldn't come as much of a surprise when Joham leans over to place his hand on her shoulder, the perfect picture of fatherly support.

Jackass.

"Children," he croons, "let us not fight any more. I'm sure that we can handle this… change in diet for the duration of our stay. After all, we wouldn't want to be rude to our hosts, would we?"

I swear, I would almost believe him. Except that's when I realize that the only reason he didn't interrupt earlier was so Nahuel and Mary could go ahead and battle it out— and maybe get turned against each other in the process.

_Manipulative jackass,_ I growl in my head, as he takes Grace and Norah by the hand and sweeps out of the room.

* * *

Huilen looks about ten seconds away from punching Joham in the face.

I can only tell this because my head is tilted at a freakish angle, trying to catch a glimpse of them behind the trees. Nahuel keeps warning me that I'll twist a muscle, but whatever. It's worth it to get a prime view if she _does _punch him in the face.

Since apparently none of the girls are able to hunt on their own (because they're so young and inexperienced?), Joham left with Grace and Norah a little while after the scene in the living room. Thankfully. But then Jacob showed up at the house and was all "Oh my God, Nessie!", and Nesserella wanted to play with Mary, and they've got a huge front yard… so, basically, we all ended up sprawled across the grass at random intervals, watching the vamps take turns playing with her.

Blondie's up at the moment, watching Nesserella on the swing set at the far end of the house. Bella and Edward are on the porch, being all in love and disgusting, and Alice and Jasper are apparently having some sort of wrestling match on the other end of the yard.

Yay, vamp bonding time. How I love it.

But, okay, it's pretty bearable. Considering that Nahuel's leaning against the trunk of a tree, and I'm all but sitting in his lap… yeah, definitely bearable.

…Okay, so I'm not _really _sitting in his lap. He just has his legs conveniently open so that I can sit between them. Which is different. Really.

"Are they honestly that fascinating?" Nahuel asks me, sounding half-exasperated, half-amused. I catch Huilen's braid swinging as she twists around and then turn to face him. Or face him as well as I can, with our positioning.

"Yep. I hope she punches him soon."

"That would definitely make this entire day more enjoyable," he allows, rightly so. Grace and Norah dance around Blondie, having been freed from Joham's vice grip of doom when Huilen went over to talk to him. Or argue in hushed tones, whichever. I watch them for a few seconds before leaning back, tipping my head just enough to catch Nahuel's mouth with mine.

He pulls back, running his fingers over the skin between my jeans and my shirt. "I believe the rest of your pack has arrived," he says, a tilt of his neck indicating what I can see from my peripheral vision: a bunch of shirtless guys wandering out of the woods.

Christ, it's like I live in a porno.

"Good for them." Bypassing his lips for now, I kiss the side of his neck. Is that creepy? "Do you hear any bitch-slapping yet?" I ask.

"Unfortunately not." His hands draw up underneath my shirt, onto my back. I arch it involuntarily, which is sort of all kinds of embarrassing. I'm not a freaking cat. I turn around, sliding my legs so that they're on either side of his. Seth's oh-so-lovely voice yells, "Get a room!" from the other side of the yard, but I flip him off without looking. Because I'm just good like that.

I let my hands sort of fall down Nahuel's chest, knuckles catching on the waist of his shorts. "Why does he do that? It's not like we're procreating on the driveway or anything."

"That would be endlessly awkward," Nahuel points out, and kisses me. Again. Which is not a complaint, trust me.

"Nahuel! _Brother! __Ven aquí, ahora!_"

Crap. I don't even know what that last part _means, _but the sound of Norah's voice yelling like that is enough to send me shooting up with Nahuel. Which probably means I'm getting way too used to them, getting way too protective of them— but _whatever. _I forget about Joham and Huilen, follow Nahuel to the flash of blue that is Norah's dress, flitting around and around the swing set. Blondie has Nesserella balanced on her hip a little ways off, and stares in an entirely un-fucking-ladylike way when Nahuel and I converge on Norah.

"_What?_" Nahuel demands, obviously not used to his youngest sister yelling so loudly. She sort of rocks on the balls of her feet, gnawing on the edge of her fingernail (bet Joham _loves _that habit), and then murmurs:

"What is he _doing?_"

She points as she says it, straight out in front of her— and I think it clicks in me and Nahuel's mind at the same time that there's nothing wrong with _her. _We turn in tandem, looking at the place she's pointing, expecting what, I'm not sure. Vampire Mafia attacking? Killer geese? Jacob being intelligent?

It's none of these things. Actually, it's only Mary— standing like she's frozen to the ground.

And, in a loose ring around her, Quil, Seth, and Jake.

And, at the front of them all, Embry.

Embry, staring at her like she is the most beautiful thing he's ever seen before.

"Oh, _fuck,_" I breathe, because there really isn't any other appropriate expletive. But every one of them flies through my mind anyway. Embry and Mary. Embry and _Mary. _

"_They are close enough."_

Arrogant, human-drinking, people-killing _Mary_—

"Nahu_el,_" Grace whines, tugging on his hand, sashaying over from where she had been tickling Nesserella. "Why is that Native shape shifter man staring at Mary? Make him _stop._"

Nahuel doesn't answer her. He turns, catches my eye instead. "Is that—" he asks uncertainly, glancing between me and the still love-struck looking Embry. "Did he—"

I nod. Even the small movement seems weary. "Yeah."

"_What _is going on?"

Joham bursts into our little group o' shock, apparently done with Huilen in the tree. She's trailing after him, miffed and with a sour expression that dies when she looks around. I want to take the time to analyze what it means when she goes straight to Nahuel, but Joham is sort of busy commanding all of our attention.

Oh, _fuck._

Nobody ever told him about imprinting.

"You!" he snaps at Embry. I see Blondie carrying Nesserella over to Edward and Bella. "Step away from my daughter." Not even checking to make sure Embry does, because he's _that _used to being listened to, he rounds on Nahuel and I. Since we're obviously the troublemakers. "What is he doing?! Why is he staring at her like that? He looks ridiculous!"

Now would be a bad time to agree. Quil grabs Embry's arm, dragging him farther away, even as I decide to be the bearer of bad fucking news and say quietly, "He… he imprinted on her."

Grace's mouth falls open. "Mary's a gosling!" she cries, apparently remembering our earlier conversation. Nahuel hushes her, even as Joham glares.

"Please do explain your shifter logic. That explanation has no meaning for me."

Ooh, bastard… Condescending, smarmy _bastard…_

I try to answer anyway. Honesty, right? It's the best policy, isn't it?

…Well, we'll pretend it is.

"Imprinting is something we do," I say carefully, swinging an arm to encompass all of the pack. "It's… it's what I did with Nahuel. It's why we're together." I take a breath, suddenly unable to get enough oxygen. I've never said this out loud before. I've never defined it with myself in mind. "It's— it's like love at first sight but a thousand times stronger. It… binds you. Irrevocably. You'll do anything for your imprint. Anything to make them happy." I glance up, but only look at Mary, still frozen, still staring blankly. My eyes find the ground again, then Nahuel, watching me encouragingly. "For Embry, it's Mary. She's his imprint. He'll be with her forever."

I wince, expecting Joham to start raging… but there's nothing. No sound.

I glance up and around— just in time to see Embry give in to the imprint, reach out for the unmoving woman he just fell in love with.

Just in time to see her jerk back, a recoil.

Just in time to see her look at each of us, one at a time, and I'm not sure if she's searching for a lie or for the truth.

Just in time to see her turn, and run.


	20. Chapter 20

Embry doesn't just phase— he _explodes. _

Strips of fabric fly everywhere, denim confetti, and Norah's face pales at the sight of this horse-sized wolf howling at the sky. I turn halfway, even as Jacob and Quil and Seth are sacrificing their clothes to join Embry, shuddering and phasing one by one, second by second. My lips meet Nahuel's shoulder, the only place I have time to reach, but his mouth is already pressing against my forehead. Scarily synchronized. I back up as he runs forward, following his sister through the trees.

Grace, her tiny wrist shackled by Joham's pale spider-fingers, cries something to me, but it's too late— heat's streaking up and down my spine, my skin is pale grey and then not skin at all, and when I fall forward it's onto four paws instead of hands and knees.

_Why why why why why why why—_

Ouch. Nobody ever seems to realize that you don't just hear thoughts; you get the joy of experiencing all the emotion behind them too. I take off running, following Seth, right in front of me. Like I have any idea where we're going, but I figure that it's gotta be better than back there. With Joham and Huilen and Grace and Norah. Who I'm sure are _so _happy right now.

_Why why fucking why Mary why why—_

Ah. Stream-of-consciousness as its finest. We all get better, after awhile, at thinking in actual sentences instead of just random spurts… but obviously, you revert sometimes.

Like now.

Like after having your imprint run away.

Mary's face is pretty much sweeping up all of our attention. It's the only thing Embry can see, her eyes and mouth and cheeks and lashes and chin… everything.

_Embry, _Seth whimpers, trying to be his helpful self. _She's just surprised, that's all. She'll be back._

If it helps, we can't tell. Embry keeps running— I don't think he even knows where. Probably trying to catch a glimpse of Mary's yellow dress. We keep running with him, Seth and Quil trading off on "feel-good" attempts. Not to ruin this brotherly bonding moment or whatever, but… God, they are such pussies. Aren't guys supposed to yell degrading things and go fishing or something?

…And, honestly, sometimes you don't _want _people to talk to you. Sometimes it just makes it that much worse. So I keep as quiet as I can, out of, I don't know, understanding? Respect? Some shit like that.

_Wow Leah, you really do have some heart-like object in your body. _

_Keep mocking me and I'll rip out your "heart-like object." _Damn Jacob.

_Dude, _Quil interrupts us, _so not the time. _

Which it kind of isn't.

And so we run. We run… and we run… and we run. Embry's thoughts still whirl around with Mary as the eye of the hurricane, the center of everything. While I try not to remember what she was yelling at Nahuel in the living room a few hours ago; try not to let on to Embry that his imprint isn't nearly as perfect as he thinks she is.

* * *

I wander back up to the Crypt after we all phase back— Jacob having come _this _close to actually ordering Embry not to run around through the woods all night and go home. I don't know how long we were gone, but it was probably a ridiculously long time. The sky is starting to go pink, and I can see the faint outline of the moon.

I'm still messing with the demon straps of my sundress (really, what is _up _with those things?) when the front door bangs open. Norah runs out, a few stray Lite-Brite pegs still tangled in her hair, and skids to a stop in front of me.

"Um. Hi," I say, stepping back just a tiny bit. Does everyone in this family have personal space issues? I mean, it's cool if it's Nahuel all up on me, but the girls, not so much...

"Nahuel wishes for you," she says breathlessly, and is taking my hand and tugging me up the porch steps before I actually take in what she said.

"Well, I'll get the wine…"

Sadly, she doesn't seem to get it. I almost trip over a stupid ceramic angel thing beside the door, slam my arm into the umbrella stand, and mutter a few words that make Norah turn, smirk, and point out, "That's naughty language."

"I'm allowed to use naughty language. I'm older than you."

I catch her eyes rolling before she turns back around, still dragging me down the hall. "Six years, sister. Don't get conceited."

…Okay, I'm such a sap. So sue me. But there was definite melting at "sister." Norah is officially all colors and shades of awesome.

"Hey," I start, as she marches us up the stairs that I laid across the night I imprinted. It seems like forever ago. "Is Mary back? Did Nahuel ever find her?"

Norah nods without looking at me, flipping a light switch on the wall so that the hallway in front of us is illuminated. "She's resting. Brother says she feels ill."

Shocker. I'm sure Embry will be ever so encouraged when that comes out. "So, yeah, you imprinted on her and now she's sick. Way to go, bro." Hell, for all I know he's already sitting in his bedroom, holding a bong and playing mournful CD's on his stereo.

It's so Embry.

Norah finally lets go of my hand, knocking lightly on a door at the end of the hallway. Then, without waiting for an answer or a "come in", she takes it upon herself to turn the knob and lead me inside. Oh, come on. What if somebody was naked in there?

…Well, considering Nahuel and Huilen are sitting inside, that would be all kinds of awkward.

Nahuel looks up from his position on, wow, how surprising, the floor. What is up with his aversion to standard furniture? He smiles at me while Huilen shifts herself (on the couch, like a halfway normal… vampire. Oh, shut up) so that she doesn't have to see me.

I'm so feeling the love.

Okay, I kind of am after Norah pretty much shoves me at her older brother. I fall in an incredibly graceful sort of way onto my ass beside him, leaning against the couch that Huilen's sitting on.

"Stay," Norah orders. "We are waiting for Father."

"Oh my God, I may spasm from joy," I deadpan. Since I'm a sarcastic bitch. But I do manage to get a sort-of appreciative snort from Huilen— maybe this is a clue that I'll be exiting the room with all of my organs intact. "Where's Grace?"

"With Mary," Norah and Nahuel chorus. He rolls his eyes at his sister, then leans over and kisses me. Hey, suddenly feeling much better. "She vomited approximately one hour ago," he tells me.

Not so better any more.

"That sucks. What's wrong with her? Besides, y'know, shock and all…"

Nahuel and Norah look at each other. Really, now. I know how to tell the difference between a random, 'hey we're glancing at each other at the same time how ironic' look, and a 'crap, we've got some shit to discuss that we don't wanna talk about' look. This look is most definitely the latter.

And honestly? It should probably worry me that there is a _serious _possibility that whatever they tell me will eventually be summarized, given a cool title, and talked about on _Oprah. _This is just how their family rolls. It's creepy beyond extreme? Joham's probably done it. And liked it.

Freak.

"What the hell are you not telling me?" I ask warily, pressing my face against Nahuel's shoulder. "Do you all cast magical spells in your spare time? Have you guys got some prostitutes locked up somewhere?"

Norah frowns. "No, but Father bought Nahuel a prostitute once."

I choke. On air. Which is a very extreme feat, I hope you realize.

"He bought you a _what?_" I half-shriek, half-laugh. _Really? _Really. Did I accidentally smoke some dope this morning?

"A prostitute," Huilen clarifies helpfully, sounding both bored and pissed at once. "One who has sexual relations in exchange for money. A whore."

"The poor girl was scarred for life by the time Aunt Huilen was done with her," Nahuel smirks, looking over at his aunt. "You needn't have frightened her so."

Huilen doesn't answer— only mutters "whore" one more time and flips her un-braided hair over her shoulder. I'm sure that there's a chance she's actually referring to me, but…

"Your dad is really creepy," I announce to Nahuel. "Like, insanely so."

"Trust me, I am more than aware."

Norah taps her foot impatiently, flouncing over to sit beside her brother's aunt. Are they ever going to get around to discussing whatever it is that they don't want to tell me? "Father is taking too long," she decides emphatically, and… get this… positions Huilen's arm so that she can lie against her side. Huilen doesn't move her, just gets a vaguely annoyed expression on her face that she covers up quickly.

You know, if I had tried to be all cuddly with her, I would probably end up getting half my face ripped off. Favoritism.

Mmm. Suddenly don't care anymore. Nahuel wraps an arm around my side, his fingers rubbing my hip over the annoying sundress. Is there a way to, I don't know, subtly take this dress _off?_ 'Cause that'd be great. Extremely so.

…Heeey there X-rated thoughts, what's up?

Okay, if I shift over a little more his hand would _definitely _come into contact with my leg. Cue me attempting to move closer without looking like a horny slut. Oh hell, that's pretty much what I am, anyway. Not getting laid for two and a half years tends to do that to a person.

Hmm. Maybe that's Huilen's problem. One hundred fifty years without sex must _suck. _Although I guess she and Joham could've banged a few times without anyone knowing. I doubt Nahuel would inquire as to her sex life.

…Ew.

Nah, she totally hates him too much for that. He did, after all, knock up her little sister. I would hate anyone who knocked Seth up. If that were possible. A pregnant Seth?

_Christ, _maybe I did smoke some dope this morning. Or maybe it's a side-effect of Nahuel and me holding hands. Yep, we totally are. How did that happen? Well, I reached over and grabbed his hand and… tah-da! Very amazing, I know.

…Except that his hand was on his thigh when I grabbed it. So_ my_ hand is very conveniently resting there as well. Which is very close to other areas that I would _much _rather have my hand on. If you know what I'm sayin'.

Fuuuck sexual tension.

Huilen looks up just then. Does she have some strange, ethereal compulsion to ruin my moments? "Joham," she announces, and grimaces. "He nears."

It's probably awful that I have the urge to answer with, 'Dun, dun, _dun…_"

I can hear the sound of his feet stomping down the hallway. Does he wear steel-toed boots or what? Norah extricates herself from Huilen, shooting to the door just as her dad opens it. They do the whole, 'oh my God we haven't seen each other for an entire hour' kiss on the lips thing. Joham looks up, over Norah's head, and smiles at me.

Well, _now_ I'm relaxed.

"I have news," he declares, sort of shuffling Norah back to her seat. She lays her head on Huilen's shoulder again, watching the entire scene like it's a really interesting movie.

"So we assumed," Nahuel says, lacing our fingers just a little bit tighter. "How is Mary?"

Joham makes a sort of waving motion with his hand. "Fine, fine." Sure, sure. "It's the cold. Mary's always been sickly."

I can believe that. Every time I see her, she looks like she needs to sleep for a few days straight. Huilen sighs, resting her chin in her palm on the arm of the c ouch. "Could you please give us this news? Some of us have things to tend to that don't involve listening to your dramatics," she tells him.

…All right, so she can be kind of cool sometimes. Not that she still isn't a psycho bitch. And you know somebody's bad when _I'm _calling them a psycho bitch.

Joham grins pleasantly at her. He looks like a shark that just ate a bunch of innocent fish. "Oh, dear Huilen… I do hope that a bed is what you will be tending to. And I thank you for taking out that awful braid— now if only it were my bed sheets that lovely hair was falling over."

I think I just died a little on the inside.

Huilen snaps back, "You are lucky that you do not sleep, otherwise I would kill you in it."

"Ah, but hopefully you would let me die happy…"

"Father, it would be wonderful if you could stop sexually harassing my aunt," Nahuel cuts in, frowning. I snort quietly. Only in this place could comments like that be common.

Joham swings his head to face Nahuel. "If it makes you uncomfortable, my son, I will happily oblige."

Yeah, or you just don't want to risk Huilen castrating you if you keep talking shit. That could be it, too.

Norah starts playing with Huilen's fingers, staring at her dad. "What did you need to tell us, Father?" she asks, smoothly getting us all back on track. Norah seems pretty good at doing that, in general. Maybe that's why she doesn't talk as much as Grace; she waits until she has something specific to say.

Or until she and Grace have something to fight about. Then she gets pretty chatty.

Joham crosses his arms behind his back, apparently preparing to let loose his news. Whatever, I just want to get out of here and go to _sleep. _Preferably with Nahuel…

And because life is just predictable like that, right when Joham opens his mouth, someone knocks on the door. He glares at it as though it purposefully knocked on itself just to interrupt him. Since the world just revolves around him like that.

"Come in," Norah calls, taking it upon her self. The door opens softly. Esme is standing outside, smiling around at us. Why is she always so happy to see everyone? She steps into the room, and, weirdly enough, turns to look at me.

"Leah, dear, you have a telephone call," she says, and that's when I notice the cordless phone she has clasped between her hands. "It's someone from La Push. Should I ask them to call you back?"

Oh damn, I hope the Quileute Mafia isn't catching up to me again.

"Uh, no, I'll take it," I decide, untangling myself from Nahuel. How is it that with a 108 degree temperature, his hands still feel fucking _hot _with mine? (And yes, I do mean hot in a 'degree' way, not in the inappropriate way… but I'd cool with his hands getting inappropriate… _Christ,_ is there a libido-removal surgery available anywhere?)

"You'll miss the news," Joham points out blandly. I can tell how much he cares.

"I think I'll manage to live through that trauma."

I catch Nahuel's smile out of the corner of my eye— at least my bitchtastic-ness is finally entertaining someone. Norah waves to me, that way little kids wave: just curling her fingers into her hand. Huilen ignores me. How stunning. I step out into the hallway, and Esme shuts the door neatly behind me. I find myself running a hand through my hair unconsciously. God, I think I could maybe stand hanging around the vamps more often if they weren't all so damn _pretty. _It doesn't exactly give you an ego boost.

"Here," Esme says, shooing me slightly down the hall, "you don't want everyone eavesdropping."

"Do you know who it is?" I ask her, feeling awkward. But now I think I might be getting the tiniest bit paranoid. Who the hell calls me at the Crypt from La Push? I just talked to Mom yesterday, and besides, she has Seth as an annoying go-between. Maybe it's one of the Elders to harass me about that goddamn fucking test. Note to self: Attempt to avoid Dr. Cullen as much as possible.

Esme shakes her head, all but prying my hand open and closing it around the phone. "I'm sorry, I should have asked."

"Um, it's cool…" Awkward, awkward, awkward.

She smiles brilliantly at me. Dude, she needs to have a brand of toothpaste named after her just for that smile. For real. "I'll leave you to it, then. Goodbye, dear."

And she runs off. Literally. I blink, she blurs, and is down the hall and the stairs.

Vampires are so annoying.

Sigh. Better get this phone call over with. Knowing my life, it's probably Seth calling to tell me that he bought a scented candle or something. He's so gay. I slide down the wall until I'm sitting on the floor, a la Nahuel, and position the phone between my ear and shoulder. "Hello?"

"Leah! Oh, God, I'm so glad you're here, I was waiting for the longest time for that vampire woman to get you!"

Holy. Fuck.

"Yeeeah," I answer weakly, crossing my arms over my stomach. How instinctual is _that? _"Hey, Emily. How're you doing?"

Why. The. Hell. Is. Emily. Calling. Me. Holyfuckingshit. I haven't talked to her since… _shit, _I don't even _know. _I take a few deep breaths, so deep they make my chest ache, and stare at my hand until it stops shaking.

Jesus _Christ._

"Oh, I'm fine, pretty good, but _oh _Leah," Emily babbles, and I'm really not even listening because I'm so busy freaking out until she bursts out, "I am _so _sorry!"

Um.

"It's little late for that, Em," I point out, trying to be funny. Except it ends up some serious joking fail.

"No, no," she sort-of laughs, half-stumbling over the words. Christ, what is up with her? "I mean, yes, of course I'm sorry about… well— I'm sorry about _that, _you know? But I'm talking about what Sam told the Elders— and the test they're making you do— oh, Leah, I'm so, so sorry! If he'd told me that's what he was doing I would have made him stop, I promise I would have! Oh, Leah—"

Oh. _Oh. _Oh.

"Uh—" Is there really anything to say in this situation? Honestly? "Um, no, Em, it's okay…" Liar. It's not okay. I fucking hate the bastard for going to the Elders.

"Don't lie to me." Okay, so Em's on the ball. I cringe, remembering when it was a _good _thing she knew when I was lying. "I swear, I yelled at him so much that the neighbors had to call and ask me to let up so they could sleep."

I choke out a laugh. "Go you."

"If it makes you feel any better," she adds, sounding in the middle of laughing and crying, "he's been sleeping on the couch for the last three days."

"…It sort of does."

Ha, Sam _sucks. _In the doghouse (literally?) with his imprint has got to be hell.

Awesome.

Emily does her weird, half-cry, half-giggle thing again. "Look, I know you're probably totally mad right now, and— well, I just wanted to say—"She clears her throat, and I remember talking to Em on the phone was easy and fun and simple… "Look, the twins' birthday is this weekend, and everyone's coming over. I was wondering if maybe you and… Nahuel… if you guys, well, if you wanted to come too?"

Wait, _what?_

"I'm not going to be anywhere around Sam," I tell her flatly. "Nowhere. Sorry. Just… no."

"Please, honey," she begs; I make a face at the wall. I am not a syrupy concoction created by bees. "I'll keep him out of your way, I'll totally exploit my imprint powers and say I'll have a mental breakdown if he even talks to you. It's just—" She pauses, takes a breath. "I'm so, so happy you imprinted. You know that, right? I mean, I don't care that he's half-leech or—"

"Vampire," I interrupt, almost snapping. Crap, she's been spending way too much time with Pack Numero Uno. Or maybe I'm just going soft. Who knows? "Half-_vampire._"

"Right." Emily sounds embarrassed. "Half-vampire. I don't care, I honestly don't. He sounds nice, and I know his sisters are visiting, and they can come too, I'll just make extra— oh, Leah, I just want to _see_ you again."

And she sounds so _brokenhearted _that I actually feel myself wavering. Just a little bit. But then I remember Mary, _running _from her imprint, and I think, _God, why couldn't you have done that? _

I guess some friendships can't be fixed.

I sigh into the mouthpiece of the phone. "I'll— I don't know, Em. I'll ask him if he wants to go." And pray like hell he says no.

"That's great!" She says it so cheerfully that it's hard for me to think for even a second that she doesn't mean it. Emily is _always _like that: so happy about _every_ damn thing. "That's really, really great, Leah. So we might see you this weekend?"

"Uh, I guess..."

"Awesome! I've gotta run, Kim's coming over for dinner tonight, and— oh, one more thing. Seth was over at Aunt Sue's earlier, and Sam and Paul were there too, and I heard that Paul told Rachel something about Embry imprinting…?"

Oh my God, the La Push werewolves really are a soap opera. Can nothing here stay a damn secret from more than two minutes? I finally mutter, "Yeah, he imprinted on Nahuel's sister. Mary." No point in hiding it, I guess. Even though she's now sick and puking after running away from the wolf that imprinted on her.

"Oh, you should ask her to come this weekend!" Emily enthuses, obviously not realizing that there is a very real possibility Mary would try to eat Claire.

…_No,_ I'm kidding.

Kinda.

"Yeah, we'll see," I answer vaguely, suddenly extremely desperate to _get off the damn phone. _"Um, hey, I gotta go now, so…"

"That's okay!" Perky, perky, perky. "I have to go start dinner, so I should be going too. Oh, it was so great talking to you!"

"Mhmm," I hum, standing up and fingering the silver 'end' button on the phone. "Yeah, you too… okay, then…"

"Goodbye!"

"Um, 'bye—"

_Click._

Well. That was anticlimactic.

I flip the phone over in my hands, wandering back down the hall. Do I want to go to the twins' birthday party? Not particularly. Honestly (and this should probably worry me a _lot _more than it does)… I'm much more cool with hanging out with Grace and Norah, watching them play with a Lite-Brite and get into stupid fights. Or talking to Nahuel, even with Huilen around to make annoying comments. It just feels _easier. _None of them expect anything from me.

I sigh, shoving my still-not-quite-long-enough-to-put-into-a-ponytail hair behind my ears. But I don't want everyone there to think I'm too, I don't know, ashamed to go out with my imprint. Besides, they probably all think he's a freak anyway.

Maybe I should. Go, I mean. And Grace would definitely be up for it if I asked her to come, and Norah goes where Grace goes…

I cannot believe I am seriously considering this.

Whatever. I'll ask Nahuel what he thinks later. Now, I set the phone down on one of those tables that are randomly sprinkled throughout the Crypt's hallways, trying half-heartedly to hear what's going on in the room I left a little while ago. Huh. They're really loud. Maybe Huilen is finally smacking the shit out of Joham. _That _would really help this day to end on a pleasant note.

I grab the knob, push open the door, and am immediately greeted with—

"What the _hell _is wrong with you?!"

It's not directed at me, obviously… but it does make me take a mental step back, because, what the crap, it's _Nahuel _yelling it. At his dad, who has Norah pretty much blocked behind his back, even as Huilen cries, "You _cannot _be serious!"

What. The. Fuck. Hello, Twilight Zone?

"So… what's happenin'?" I ask, sidling in and closer to Nahuel. He looks… more pissed off than I've ever seen him before. What?

"My father is an idiot," he snaps, more to Joham than to me. "What on Earth _possessed _you—"

"Son, your harsh words pain me," Joham says calmly. Yes, he sounds like he's in _so _much pain. "I do not think you understand—"

"Of course I understand! I understand that there are fifty years between Mary and Grace— almost sixty between Grace and Norah!"

"Sometimes one happens upon luck." He shrugs. "I asked for your cooperation, son. I will ask it of Mary, as well, when she wakes."

Huilen steps forward, gnashing her teeth. "You will _not _do that to Mary. You don't think the poor girl's been through enough already?!"

And when exactly did Mary become 'the poor girl'? I reach out and brush Nahuel's clenched hand with my fingers. "Hey," I murmur. "What's going on?"

He looks at me, like he hasn't even noticed I was there before. Norah tugs on Joham's sleeve, whispering, "I'm going to check on Mary and Gracie, Father." He barely nods his head before she's _out, _blurring the way the vamps tend to do. What's she running away from?

"Chin up, my dear son!" Joham smiles, spreading his arms wide. "This is luck at its finest! I told you that I struck a lovely deal with the Volturi. All they wanted was my compliance with their request, along with all of my records on the girls, past, present, and future. This just happened to have occurred several days before they contacted me. Luck, son, luck!"

Nahuel, I surmise from his expression, does _not _think it's luck.

"You wish for me to go to Mexico," he says to his dad. My mouth falls a little. Why the fuck would he be going to Mexico?

"That I do," Joham answers. Huilen bites her bottom lip so hard it looks like she might actually break her own vamp-skin.

"Along with Mary."

"Yes, along with Mary."

"You would put Mary through that again?"

Okay, something is _definitely _up with Mary. I open my mouth to ask, but Joham says, "She will be fine. Time heals all wounds."

Nahuel lets out a deep breath. I take the silence as an opportunity to grab his hand and demand, "What the _hell _are you all taking about?"

There's a beat where all three of the others are staring at each other. Then Nahuel sighs, rubs his thumb over my knuckles. "I am going to Mexico."

What the fuck is so special about Mexico? "…Do I get to know why?"

He snaps a glare at his dad. "Because, Father wishes for me to help with the… birth."

I think my heart might have stopped beating for a second. But then it trips into overtime, because he can_not _be implying that— "The birth of _what?_" I ask, my voice probably way higher than it needs to be.

Nahuel looks, when I catch his eye, completely and utterly _tired. _"The birth of my new sibling."

* * *

_a/n:_ I'm posting this chapter much later than usual :P Sorry!

A couple people asked what the Lite-Brite from the last chapter was. Well, awesome, for one, much like Nahuel. ;) But basically it's this black board with spaces all over for translucent, colored pegs— the ones Grace was braiding into Norah and Nessie's hair. You pop the pegs in to make a pattern or picture or whatever, plug in the Lite-Brite, and it lights up all the pegs in an insanely cool way.

AND. Last chapter was the most reviewed chapter of this story. Really, I squealed when I realized that. In delight. I even told my mom, when we were sitting in the orthodontist's waiting room, with her filling out the little medical sheet thing. It went like this, actually:

"Mom, do you _know _how many reviews I got last chapter?!"

"A lot? Hey, have you done any drugs in the last three months?"

"Yes, Mom, I shot up right before we left. Do you _know _how awesome it is?!"

"What, those drugs you shot up? Yeah, I'm sure they were pretty awesome."

Sigh.

Also! To the reviewer who was hoping Embry would imprint on Huilen? YOU ARE EDWARD. Just randomly one day, when I was writing the chapter where the sisters showed up, I was like, "Hmm, you know what would be awkward and dramatic and awesome? If _Embry _imprinted on _Huilen._ Because you know she would be all emotionally abusive and kick his ass and he wouldn't be able to do _anything._" Unfortunately, I had already decided on Mary D: But you are still awesome!

And, since this is already the Author's Note of Doom, I might as well add that I tried as hard as I could to make sure you didn't know what Nahuel, Huilen, and Joham were arguing about until the last few sentences. I may have failed completely, with the stuff about Mary, but… 'A' for effort? :D

Okay, I'm done. Promise. :)


	21. Chapter 21

Mary's throwing up.

Again.

Honestly, I feel kinda like puking too. But Mary definitely takes precedent over anybody else, considering that she's pretty much in quarantine. Esme took her temperature an hour ago and she is officially a toasty 103 degrees, which means now everyone's paranoid to the extreme about letting Nesserella near her and catching the evil that is a fever.

Nahuel's with Mary now, which means I'm with her too. Though it's sort of insanely creepy watching her puke up blood that I know isn't hers. I finally hunker down and find a washcloth, that I soak with water while wondering how in the hell this house is so damn big and has such small bathrooms.

"Here," I say, and lean over Nahuel to put the cloth on Mary's paler-than-usual forehead. It slips off almost instantly, since she's leaning over the toilet, but her brother catches it and places it more appropriately on the back of her neck.

"Why can't _you_ ever get sick?" Mary mumbles, and then pukes. More blood. I wince and then feel, crap, guilty. You know you're getting attached when you start feeling bad for your own thoughts.

Her long, slender legs are pressed up against her chest. Alice (or, as Grace and Norah call her, Small Future Knower— much like her husband is Tall Scarred Man) came in earlier to run her blood-splattered dress through the washing machine. The thing looked like it'd been taken off of a murder victim. In exchange, Mary got a T-shirt and shorts, the latter of which she abandoned a little while ago. Nahuel muttered, when I asked him, that their dad doesn't like them wearing anything but dresses and it makes her uncomfortable. But it's sort of weird looking at her, even when she had the shorts on; she's almost freakishly thin, with long, overlapping arms and legs that remind me of a spider's.

I just want to shove a hamburger in her mouth. Girl needs something to _eat. _

Someone knocks on the bathroom door— which is pointless since, yes, it's _open. _We don't want to pass out in here from all the blood-fumes. I look up and see Blondie leaning against the doorframe, appraising the scene in front of her. Yeah, I'm sure we look straight out of a Lifetime movie: Mary, leaning over the toilet in her underwear and a T-shirt, Nahuel rubbing her back every time she projects more human blood out of her mouth, and me putting my freaky-heated shape shifter hands all over her when she complains that she's cold.

"Esme wanted to know if you all want any dinner…?" Blondie trails off, obviously realizing that none of us are in a particularly hungry mood. Hell, after this I don't think I'll be hungry for a few _months._

"No, thank you," Nahuel answers, and then stands, grabbing Mary's hands to pull her up too. "I think it's time you slept, sister."

"I am going to vomit all over you," she warns weakly, as I press myself against the counter to get out of their way. Blondie shrugs, taking off, as Nahuel finally gives up dragging his sister into the hall and picks her up instead.

"You won't," he assures her. I follow them, randomly brushing hair off Mary's forehead. Damn those not-quite-buried maternal instincts, even though she's technically a good hundred years older than me.

"And why" –she breaks off, hacking out a cough— "is that?"

"Because then I would be forced to kill you."

I burst out laughing, compensation for Mary's tiny chuckle. At least Fate gave me an amusing as all hell imprint. Nahuel nudges open a door with his shoulder, saying, "Now you see how claiming your own room would have been easier."

"_Cállate,_" Mary mumbles. "You said I could stay."

Aaand they've lost me. Grace is leaning across the bed in the middle of the room, hurriedly smoothing the new, non-bloody sheets down. She glances at her older sister, pulling the blanket back so Nahuel can sit her down.

"You look awful," she tells Mary cheerfully.

"Way to be kind to the sick," I mutter, jabbing her with my elbow. She sticks out her tongue in that infinitely mature way she has, then kisses Mary on the forehead.

"Good night, sister. Feel well."

Mary hums a reply, rolling onto her side and sighing. Her eyes flutter closed just as the door creaks open again and Norah peers inside. Grace shoos her out immediately, then raises her eyebrows at me and Nahuel. "Come on!" she whisper-hisses, hand on hip. I need to get used to the fact that she's half a century older than I am and actually, shockingly enough, acts it sometimes.

"Hurry up, stupid lizards!"

For very, very small amounts of time.

We leave Mary falling asleep in her guest bed and troop down the hallway. Well, Nahuel and I walk normally, Grace and Norah do some weird dance together. Whatever. I'll continue dissecting their weirdness when there aren't, oh, a few _billion_ other things to worry about.

I'm pretty much blocking myself from thinking about it all. Really. You get disturbingly good at doing that when you run around as thought-sharing wolves with your ex-boyfriend. That's pretty much the only thing keeping me from having a complete mental breakdown right about now— I keep shoving it back until it slams into my skull. I didn't even get a chance to say _anything _after Nahuel's very dramatic announcement; Grace stole that thunder when she slammed the door open and announced Mary's thermometer results to everyone. And, thanks to the super-hearing vamps infesting the first floor, this resulted in what was probably a very accurate representation of life during the Black Plague:

'Oh my God, grab Nesserella, germs, disinfect, oh holy Christ the child, save the child, get the cleaning supplies, the rubber gloves, quarantine the puking half-vamp, OH MY GOD SOMEBODY SAVE US ALL.'

Yeah. Just like that.

So, in short, we've all been just a liiittle bit busy.

Nahuel catches my eye now. "Would you like to eat?"

"Depends. We talking food here, or deer blood?"

He smiles as we start walking down the stairs— Norah shoves Grace so that she almost falls down them. Gotta love that half-vamp elegance. "The former for you, the latter for me. Edward tells me they give Renesmee blood in a… sippy cup? Whatever that object is. He has offered to give me some as well so that I do not have to leave to hunt."

A little girl, sitting with a sippy cup, drinking animal blood. If only Child Protective Services knew about the Cullen's.

"Cool," I sigh, "'cause you know the wolves needs, like, eight meals a day."

We're walking close enough together down the hallway that I take a second to press my forehead against his shoulder, breathing in deeply. After eating, I promise myself, after we go the room we've sort of started sharing, I'll ask him all about this. About Mary and Mexico and new babies. Everything.

We stay still for a minute, silent. Until Norah skids out of the kitchen, frowning and with an apron tied sloppily around her waist. "Are you finished being romantic?" she demands, exasperated. "Come _on!_"

"No, I wasn't quite finished," I tell her, but she's already turning away. I roll my eyes and follow, Nahuel trailing behind me. The vamps better have some damn good food.

The kitchen is just as big and bright as I remember. Cheerful yellow curtains, steel stove, crap held to the fridge with letter magnets… right out of a magazine. Y'know, if magazines usually had pictures of kitchens with creepily beautiful people milling around trying to cook human food.

"No!" we hear Nesserella cry, from where she's sitting at the kitchen table. Well, sitting _on _the kitchen table would be a more accurate description. She's scowling at her mother, arms crossed tight over her chest. Oh wow, I guess Bella really isn't Super Mom. How shocking.

"Come on, baby," Bella croons, bending over and pressing the spoonful of pasta more insistently at her daughter. "It tastes yummy!"

I snort. Yes, let's tell the two and a half year old with double Jacob's IQ that something tastes 'yummy.' That's sure to entice her.

Blondie, leaning against the far wall, flips her hair over her shoulder, and I can't help a stab of jealousy. Ugh. Stupid long-haired vamps. "If Nessie doesn't like it, why are you forcing her to eat it?" she asks indifferently, barely glancing up from the cookbook she has spread in her hands.

Bella-Skank frowns, dropping the spoon back into a tiny plastic container. "She hasn't even tried it. She has to try it to know if she likes it."

"Nah," I disagree, in a very helpful way, "sometimes you just know when stuff's nasty."

"I am sure it isn't that awful," Nahuel says to Nesserella, trying to coerce her into eating the pasta. Because he eats _so _much human food. Grace must have the same thought, since she slides over, plucks the spoon out of the container, and shoves it at her brother.

"Then you eat it," she croons.

Nahuel narrows his eyes at her. "I'd rather not."

"But I'm sure it isn't that awful!" I mock him, cackling. I think even Blondie cracks a smile.

"I take it back. It is that awful."

"Too late!" Grace crows. "Eat it, brother."

"You know, you are very irritating to me right now."

"You are very irritating to me most of the time," she counters, still pushing the full spoon at him.

"I don't think I— _Grace!_"

Well.

…She certainly took advantage of the fact that talking requires opening your mouth.

Nesserella shrieks out a laugh at Nahuel's face— and, okay, so do I. It's fucking _priceless. _Who knew watching your imprint get pasta shoved into his mouth by his crazy weird sister would be this funny?

Nahuel grimaces, swallowing. "I dislike you so much."

"But still love me!" Grace laughs, turning around and skipping over to Bella and Nesserella. "Here, _pajarito,_ you will try it now?"

Nesserella still looks skeptical, but nods slowly. She lets Grace scoop more pasta onto the spoon and press it into her mouth, where she chews for an annoyingly long time. "Still bad," she announces, making a face.

"Tell me about it," Nahuel mutters, taking with a grateful smile the water bottle Blondie tosses him. Except… I don't think water usually has a dark red tint. Great. Let's watch him drink some animal blood, as if this wasn't a weird enough damn day.

Alice walks in then, Mary's newly-cleaned yellow dress folded neatly in her arms. "Here you go, Nahuel," she sings, handing it to him. He, in turn, passes it into Grace's impatient hands. "Is Mary feeling any better yet?"

"Somewhat. She sleeps, now. Perhaps when she awakens the worst will have passed."

"Mary is sick?" Nesserella asks, intrigued. Do these people go out of their way not to tell her things? Norah, who until now has been talking softly with Blondie, too-big apron still knotted loosely around her waist, looks up and nods.

"Father says it is the cold making her ill," she explains, playing with the apron strings. "We are used to the heat and the humidity, all of the time. It's why brother has been sleeping longer than he usually does. The sudden temperature change tires us all."

"Then why is Mary sicker than everyone else?" Nesserella wonders. Her mother lifts her off the table, grabbing a bottle o' blood with a defeated sigh. Oh, shut up, your kid doesn't like pasta, big deal.

"Mary's always become ill the easiest," Grace tells her, playing with the curls in her hair. "For some reason."

Nesserella shrugs, fisting her hand in Bella's shirt. She yawns, blinking her eyes back open again, but her mother clicks her tongue. "Are you tired, sweetie?"

No, she probably just yawned at nine o' clock at night to trick you. You're gullible enough.

Even with her daughter assuring her that _'I am not tired, Momma'_, Bella-Skank waves a goodbye to everyone in the kitchen (as if we'd miss her… or maybe I just speak for myself. Whatever) and leaves for her cottage. In the woods. With the fairies…

Esme comes in next, and lets Norah help her make not a pot, not a container, but a _vat _of spaghetti. This, of course, prompts Jacob to come sniffing around, having apparently finished obsessing over Nesserella for the day. He's such a freaking hobo— he's never at his own damn house. Nahuel and Blondie start talking in the corner, about I-don't-know-what, and Jake accosts me to start babbling about his little imprint's birthday. Apparently the vamps just decided to give her a few every year, to celebrate each age. Since it obviously wouldn't be as much fun and as wasteful to just give her one a year for a bunch of random ages. But I obviously do not have the _wisdom _of the vampires, so what do I know?

At least I get spaghetti out of this.

It's actually really damn good spaghetti, which is most likely because Norah put a bunch of weird spices in the sauce. Whatever, it tastes awesome. I even make Nahuel try some, and he smiles at me when he swallows but then says that if he eats any more Mary won't be the only one vomiting.

Eventually, after Jacob and I dump our plates in the sink, everyone starts to disperse. Large Smiling Vampire (Grace and Norah's name, not mine) comes to get Blondie— well, 'grab and make out with' might work better than 'get.' Esme starts wiping down the counters, and actually lets Grace lick her cheek before she leaves. This sends Grace into something like spasms of rapture, since she apparently tastes like grass and milk. How Grace knows what grass tastes like, I don't even want to guess at.

Norah kisses Nahuel and me on the cheek, grinning in her now sauce-splattered apron. "Good night, brother. Good night, Leah. You will listen for Mary, _sí__?_"

"Of course," Nahuel answers. "Sleep well, sister."

"Why do you guys do that?" I ask him, as we start walking up to the second floor.

"What do you speak of?"

"Calling people by… what's the word… by a title, instead of their name."

He frowns at me. "I do not understand your meaning."

"Like how Grace and Norah call Jake 'Native Shape Shifter Alpha.' Or Esme is 'Coven Leader's Mate.' Or just calling each other brother and sister. Why?"

Nahuel shrugs, flipping up the same light switch that Norah had earlier, when she brought me up here to wait for Joham. "Habit, I suppose. When Grace was small they made occasional appearances in high society— Father's way of proving how superior his creations were." There's a residual trace of bitterness in his words, but it's so slight that I can easily listen when he continues, "Mary made those titles up to help her remember faces. Grace's fault for not paying attention when names were exchanged, though she could have memorized them with no problems. The tendency stuck. It comes out in me when I spend time with them, I presume."

"I should give you a title," I muse, as he opens the door to his room. And, I reiterate, he is awesome, because he holds it opens a little to let me inside instead of me having to be all awkward and follow him. "How child-appropriate does it have to be?"

He smiles as I fling myself down onto the bed. Wow, I'm so incredibly subtle. "I'm not sure I wish to know what you are considering."

"You will," I promise, then grin. I'm such a nymphomaniac.

"I am going to bathe myself now," Nahuel announces. Because that so helps me not think about sex.

"…Have fun? And don't you mean shower?"

"They are one in the same, are they not?" He shrugs, again. "You are cleaned either way."

How is he always right about shit like that? "Wait, you lived in the jungle, right?" I ask, pushing myself up on my elbows while he starts gathering clothes. "So for a bath, you…?"

"Used the river," he supplies. "Though I find the Cullen's way much simpler."

"I hope. It would be really awkward if you had to go down the river every night to take a bath."

He leans over, kisses me on the forehead. Ugh, Christ, that should not make me so happy and glow-y. "I shall check on Mary."

"I shall stay here and jack the magazine on the side table."

"Do enjoy yourself."

Except after he leaves and I grab the magazine, I realize that it's a _Cosmo _from February of last year. Yay, reading about romance and orgasms. It's just what I need.

I do, however, need the latter in real life. Incredibly so.

I toss the magazine to the side, sighing and tucking my hand under my head. Hell, if I'm this tired at, what, 9:30? Then I should seriously reevaluate my sleeping patterns. My eyes flutter closed, and I even manage to halfway toss the blanket over me before I start dozing. I'm not exactly asleep, but my thoughts are all disjointed and dreamy anyway. I keep jumping from the La Push beaches to the white, sandy stretches that I think Mexico might be like… from Emily's scarred and smiling face to Grace's serene eyes and forever-genuine joy… from my four year old self, watching Mom throw up right before she explained that I was going to have a new baby brother, to Mary, leaning over the toilet and crying out with every heave of her stomach… Mary, always so tired looking, lashing out at Nahuel this morning…

I startle out of my halfway-sleep, scrambling up against the headboard.

No. Fucking. Way.

Nofuckingway.

My 'revelation' time is very, very short lived. Nahuel opens the door while I'm still clutching at the head of the bed, _thisclose_ to freaking the fuck out, a few stray droplets of water still skimming over his arms and his hair wet and recently re-braided.

"Hello," he says, easily slipping into the bed beside me.

And my esteemed answer is, "Holy fucking shit, is Mary fucking pregnant?!"

Nahuel blinks at me. "Would you please repeat that without the multiple expletives?"

Well… that takes out about half the words. But I comply, flipping onto my stomach so that I'm lying next to him and hiss, "Is Mary _pregnant?_"

The entirety of his face furrows, perplexed. "Why in the world would you think that?"

I can't help flailing my arms around a little— because all of the _symptoms, _holy _shit, _what the hell would Embry _do _if Mary was pregnant with some other dude's kid? And how the crap has that never _happened_ before? Somehow everyone's managed to imprint on either toddlers or reasonably aged women. Never a married woman. Never an old woman. Never a _pregnant _woman. "She's throwing up!" I whisper-shriek at Nahuel. "Morning sickness! She's tired and bitchy! She's _pregnant!_"

Unfortunately, Nahuel does not seem to share in the realization. Which means I'm basically thrashing around like a demented fish for a reason he's not grasping. "Leah dear, you are not making sense," he says, reaching over to spear his fingers through my hair. Don't get distracted, dammit, don't get distracted… making out with half-vampire imprint comes _after _discussing half-vampire imprint's possibly pregnant sister.

"Mary," I enunciate, wriggling so that I can prop myself up on my elbows, "is pregnant. Holy shit. She's fucking pregnant."

"I hate to interrupt your stunned amazement, _querida… _but I still have no idea as to why you would think that," he tells me bemusedly. "Mary is not with child."

"Oh, okay, and now can I see your med school diploma?" I demand, just a little bit hysterical. "You don't know, she has to go to fucking Carlisle or get one of those friggin' home pregnancy tests or would those even work on half-vamps—"

"Leah. Please. _Cállate._"

"Mary said that earlier!" I shriek, not even bothering with the 'whisper' part anymore. Like I care at this point. "Is it some weird code word for _pregnant?_"

"Darling, it means 'shut up.'"

"…Oh."

Well. Nothing like ending the day by getting told off in Spanish by my imprint.

I groan, curling my hands over his shoulders. Somehow my flailing and freaking out has managed to land me half on top of Nahuel, one leg between both of his, partially lying across his stomach and chest. Which is threatening to sidetrack me at the moment, but I force my eyes up to his face… holy shit, his eyes are gorgeous…

Ahem. Anyway. I wasn't just momentarily out of it because of a guy's eyes. No, never.

What the fuck was I talking about?

Oh. Oh, yeah. Mary, puking and sleeping and bitching. _Mary. _"Dude!" I stress, looking up at him again, "Mary's effing _pregnant._"

Nahuel rolls his eyes at me. At _me. _"I can assure you that she isn't."

"_How?_"

"Well, for one, Father keeps very strict records of her sexual relations. He would be certain if she was with child by now. Secondly, a woman's scent changes as soon as she falls pregnant, dramatically enough for even Grace, Norah, or I to notice. And thirdly, Mary is ill in this manner both because of Father's news of our… sibling's birth, and the shock of that Native man imprinting upon her." He pauses, watching me with a weird, debating look on his face. "This is why she is so sickly. When presented with stress, her body tends to become physically ill."

I think I can actually feel my heartbeat slowing down. Okay. Okay. He makes sense. Though it is insanely creepy and disturbing that Joham has _records _about her sex life, but whatever. Not pregnant. _Not _pregnant.

But Nahuel keeps talking. "There is a fourth reason I doubt this alleged pregnancy."

I splay my hands over his chest, my fingertips resting right above his heart. "Would you like to share with the class?"

He frowns at me. "We are the only ones here."

"Expression. Go on."

There's the smallest hint of a hesitation, before he finally answers, "These symptoms of pregnancy that you listed— well… Mary never had any of them during her other pregnancies."

…Excuse me, heart stopping again.

"Her. Other. Pregnancies," I repeat haltingly. "She's been pregnant before."

Nahuel nods reluctantly. "Thrice."

Jesus _Christ. _I wouldn't be surprised if all of this family's skeletons got up from the closet and started fucking _dancing. _

My voice is soft when I murmur, mostly in amazement, "She has three kids." Holy shit. I'm going to phase tomorrow. _Embry _is going to phase tomorrow. That is not going to be a good combination. 'So, Embryo, your imprint's got three kids who are probably all older than you. Have fun, Daddy!'

I glance up, pushing my stupid thoughts away, when Nahuel winces. "That is where you would be incorrect."

"…Hmm?" What else am I missing here?

He sighs, hand rubbing up and down my back in an almost unconscious motion. "Leah dear… all of Mary's children were born the same way."

I crinkle my forehead, staring up at him. "What way?"

Nahuel bites his lip, and then answers:

"Dead."

Have you ever been presented with something that truly makes your jaw _drop?_ I sure as hell hadn't— and all it took was one word to do it.

One word, to change my entire perspective on Mary.

_Dead._

I make a strangled kind of noise, my grip on Nahuel's shoulders suddenly vice-like. How could it feel, I wonder faintly, to be _this close _to having a baby, and then getting it taken away? Not once, not twice, but _three _times. At least I'd never been pregnant. I had vague hopes. Mary had tiny bodies.

"Oh my God," I murmur, and work on making my lips come back together. Nahuel is watching me, apparently making sure I don't freak the fuck out again, but this isn't 'freak out' news. This is just… numbing news.

Three dead babies.

Before conscious thought can catch up with me, my whole body wraps itself tighter around Nahuel, arms snaking up to clench around his neck, legs intertwining with his underneath the thin cover of the blanket. "Oh my God," I say again, into his neck. "Holy shit. I… fuck. Poor Mary."

"Yes," Nahuel agrees softly. "Poor Mary."

We stay like that for I-don't-know-how-long, curled into each other. Eventually I look up, and we're already so close that the only option I have is to draw myself up higher and press our foreheads together. "That's why she doesn't want to go to Mexico?" I guess, breathless. "Because of the… baby?"

Nahuel sighs, eyes fluttering half-closed. "That is a part of it."

Then please to be gifting me with the rest of the reasons, darling. "…And the other parts?"

"…Her last baby was born seventeen years ago." He stares at me, imploring. When I don't react, he murmurs, "Norah is seventeen years old. She and Mary's third child were born on the same day. One lived. One was already dead. Three guesses as to which was which."

My mind goes, immediately, to a memory of Mary stamping a kiss on Norah's forehead. "That's… fucking awful."

Nahuel nods. He studies me for a moment longer, his head tilting gently to the side. "It was the stress," he says next, looking mournful. "Father never should have let her know of Norah's impending arrival. She was already bedridden, and had been for weeks."

I watch him through my eyelashes. "Why?"

"As I said before… when in stressful situations, Mary can't help but become physically ill. Norah's coming birth, another baby to take care of along with her own newborn, coupled with her almost constant worries over a third stillbirth— it all worked against her. Violent illness and a baby in the womb do not mix." He sighs again, softer. "She wore herself too thin."

I don't answer for awhile. It's all just a _tad _bit much to take it. That, and Embry's annoying face keeps popping up in my head. I always knew he'd be freaked out by Mary being sick in the first place— but how the hell is he going to take the _reasons? _And I thought _I _had some baggage; Mary's got a freakin' _pile _of the stuff. Embry'd still love her, I know, there's no way he _couldn't… _but it's not gonna be pretty watching him figure out that his imprint's been knocked up by other guys before.

…Holy shit.

I startle so thoroughly that Nahuel grabs onto my wrists to steady me. I balance on my own by tossing my leg wider, over his, and demand, "Who was their father?!"

"Excuse me?"

"Her _babies,_" I pronounce emphatically, exasperated, waiting for him to _get it_. "Who was their _dad?_"

"You should use the plural," Nahuel corrects, hand on the small of my back. "There were three."

"Three," I repeat, weakly. "Okay. _Okay_. Who were they? 'Cause now Embry's got a _helluva _lot of competition."

Nahuel's smile is faint. "The latter two are dead. Unless Embry has a connection with those beyond the grave, I doubt this presents a problem."

"Dead," I mutter, hardly listening. "Dead is good."

And let's add that as #3,423 on the list of things I thought I'd _never _say.

I raise my neck to catch his eye again. "What about the first? 'Cause really, Embry's gonna be fuckin' _pissed. _Swear to God. Who was the first's father?"

Nahuel looks away, then back at me. "Father," he repeats.

"Yes, father, who was the father?" I ask, louder, every nerve inside me wound up tight.

"I just told you," Nahuel says, and there's a look on his face like something's tearing at his seams. "Father."

I stare at him. No reaction this time. Just… no. He can't be saying that Joham— "Are you serious?" I whisper, bringing my hands up to the side of his face. "You aren't, right?"

But Nahuel only glances down and murmurs, "That is probably why the baby was stillborn. He was too deformed to live."

"…Deformed?" I echo feebly, feeling my fingers start to shake. Disgusting fucking _monster—_

"Mary caught a glimpse of him," Nahuel says, and for the first time I can remember, his voice is an absolute monotone. "The baby. Before I covered him. She never should have. Half of his face was caved in."

I don't know what the sound I make is, but it's a horrible all the same. I've never been good at the giving-sympathy thing, always let Emily handle talking to the emotionally wrecked people— so I compensate by vining myself tighter around him, rocking into his hands. It feels bizarrely, stunningly _right. _

"I'm sorry," I mumble, incapable of thinking of anything else to say.

"You have nothing to be sorry for."

"But I am. I'm just annoying and divergent that way."

He chuckles, making his throat vibrate where my ear rests over it. "I apologize for telling you all of this. It cannot be a pleasant experience."

"But I want to know," I protest, touching our foreheads again. "It's you. And so I want to know."

Yeah, yeah, probably the sappiest thing I've ever said, shut _up._ Nahuel smiles, and I mimic him effortlessly. "You are a very strange woman," he murmurs, almost to himself.

"Are you kidding? I'm the King, Queen, and Archduke of _strange._"

I kiss him. It's the only other thing I can think of to do that might make him stop thinking about Mary and her dead, deformed baby, his psycho father and trip to Mexico. I kiss him _hard, _and I know that when I pull away my lips are going to be way too red and bruised to leave any doubt as to what we've been doing. And I realize in the middle of all this making out that during the course of our conversation… in bed… I have somehow managed to position myself so that I'm straddling him.

Yep.

Well, what would _you _do?

My insides start to vibrate again, my wolf-ness (or something…) burning up all the venom he's giving me. It weird and fantastic at once, my blood bubbling over like that, and the combination of it and Nahuel's hands sliding along my sides— well, I make some noise.

Like, sexual noise.

Okay, a moan. Whatever. Let's not get technical here.

Well, I try not to get technical. Nahuel is the one who pulls back, looking bemused, and asks, "Did you just moan?"

Thank you darling, I HADN'T REALIZED.

"Um, no?" I answer, and peck him on the cheek. "Thaaaat would be inappropriate."

He thinks for a moment. "No, it wouldn't. It's rather nice to hear."

…You see? You _see? _How am I supposed to remain chaste and virtuous when he _tells me things like that?_

Oh, hell, like I was chaste and virtuous in the first place.

Which makes it completely acceptable, of course, for me to kiss him again. And wrap our legs together. And tangle one hand in his braid.

Let's see how much sleep we get tonight.


	22. Interlude III: Nahuel

Leah's hands are traversing across my upper torso, which I consider somewhat of a feat given the fact that our mouths are still connected and this cannot be doing wonders for her, sight-wise. Her hair falls over the sides of my face, encompassing us together. And because I am just discovering exactly how soft the skin of her hip is beneath the fabric of her shirt, this makes it the perfect moment for Norah to knock on the door.

Both Leah and I, of course, were able to smell her the second she came into the hall outside the bedroom we are currently sharing. I can only assume that denial is what led us to believe she was here only to check on Mary, and not interrupt us at an incredibly inopportune moment. But then, what would the point be in having sisters if they were not irritating to the extreme?

Our very comfortable shell of denial is shattered quite forcefully when Norah's fist taps gently at the door that separates she from us. Leah breaks away, groaning with what I am sure is annoyance. She does not, however, remove her legs from either side of mine. I am not able to say that I care.

"Yes, sister?" I call, unable to stop myself from turning my head and kissing Leah's hand where it rests on my shoulder. She sighs as Norah answers:

"Are you decent?"

This, understandably, changes Leah's sigh into a laugh. I roll my eyes and call back, "Haven't you ever heard that it is considered rude to answer a question with a question?"

"No, why is that?"

And Leah's laugh in now a cackle-- I lift her away from me, settling her against the wall before standing up and striding to the door. "Charming," I say to Norah once I open it. She smirks and leans against the frame.

"I rather thought so."

I wait a beat. "Is there a particular reason you are here? Or do you simply enjoy annoying others with inane topics of conversation?"

"That's mean!" Leah yells from behind me, but the smile in her words is obvious. "I don't think you're inane, Norah!"

My youngest sister grins triumphantly, as if she has just been awarded the highest compliment. "There, you see? Even your mate thinks that you are wrong."

"My mate has just taken a substantial amount of venom into her bloodstream. I'm surprised she's coherent at the moment. Her words are not to be trusted."

"_You're_ not to be trusted!"

Norah stares at me, nonplussed. "Venom?"

I hear Leah come up behind me, catch the scent of her wind its way around my waist. "It takes the place of spit," she explains, not bothering to move all the way in front of me, only ducking beneath my arm. "Saliva? And people do tend to swap that stuff when they kiss."

Norah looks nothing if not intrigued. "How strange. It sounds unsanitary."

Leah bursts into another round of laughter, and then assures her female counterpart, "It's not. Haven't you ever kissed anyone before?"

Guileless, Norah shakes her head. "I'm not allowed."

I can feel Leah's internal pause. It's almost disturbingly easy to follow the trail of her thoughts: Mary, raped by her own father, and Norah not allowed even to kiss anyone? Rather unbelievable, I assume. But she immediately continues, "Well, I promise it's not. Maybe you should go find Seth and practice. He wouldn't mind."

My sister giggles slightly at the implication. "I am not going to transfer my saliva into your brother's mouth."

"Well, damn," Leah says amiably, and then kisses the edge of my arm. "I'm guessing you're here to drag Nahuel away to certain doom. Or your dad. Same thing."

"You are quite the perceptive one," Norah sighs, tucking a long lock of hair behind her ear.

"Wait a moment," I interrupt, "why on Earth does Father need us _again?_" Truly, that man is ridiculous.

Norah appears to know exactly what I am considering. "You had better go," she tells me, in an almost admonishing sort of way. "He's already woken Mary. She's sitting in Huilen's bedroom."

Imbecile. On both the part of Mary, and taking up residence in Aunt Huilen's quarters. But I have come to realize that there are many fields in which my father can be classified an imbecile. Leah rolls her eyes, sliding out from beneath my arm and retreating into the room. As the bed springs creak behind me I hear her call, "Because God forbid his sick daughter get rest!"

Norah makes a noise of agreement, something she is only able to do in places where Father does not reside. I rub a hand over my face-- I am neutral towards the concept of speaking with Father on a normal day, but after the conversation I have only just completed with Leah, it comes as no surprise that I am even less inclined to be in his company this night. But of course he knows: I would not have Mary, ill and tired, awoken for absolutely nothing.

Sometimes I hasten to believe that my life (or is that existence?) would be much, much easier if I simply hated my sisters.

Norah reaches out and takes me by the hand just as I finish the previous thought. The lines of her dress are wrinkled; her nose, the smallest bit red from prolonged cold. I smile at her because it is a motion I cannot help-- because it would be impossible to hate any of the girls. Yes, I have seen firsthand their arrogance, their thoughtless cruelty to those they kill, their wide-eyed acceptance of Father's views. And this is what I realize: they are products of their environment, nothing more. Mary, I know, would be a person thousands of times worse than the one she is today if not for the deaths of Adam, of Annabelle, of Nuria-- if those deaths had not taught her that grief descends upon all, regardless of half-vampire bloodlines.

How can I hate them in the slightest, knowing all of this?

"Have fun," Leah says from behind us. I turn to see her hanging from the bed upside down, the ends of her hair, growing longer by the day, pooling slightly on the floor. I raise my hand in a goodbye. She answers with a smile, just as Norah turns to shut the door.

We are halfway down the hall when my sister complains, "Normal people kiss goodbye and that is that. Must you and your mate take so very long?"

"You are the one who started on about useless things," I point out. Recalling our destination, I ask, "Why again does Father need us?"

"Preparations," Norah says briskly, wrinkling her nose. "For Mexico. You wouldn't be required, as we've been speaking for awhile already--"

"Thank you so very much."

"--_but,_ Mary is refusing to go."

I blink in surprise. I remember only one time Mary directly defied Father... and yet, that ended in her favor. Perhaps she is growing bolder. Not that I ever expected her to wish to attend this fifth child's birth; the shock is how readily and easily she denied what Father wanted. "And how has he taken this?" I inquire, as the scent of Aunt Huilen reaches me. We are near her rooms.

Norah looks as me as though I've revealed myself very dim. "About as well as he did with Nuria, Grace says."

A wince mars my face before I think to stop it. I hope that Edward is nowhere near as the memory bombards my mind's eye: Mary, clutching Nuria to her chest, sobbing so hard that she cannot stand. Mary, shrieking at Father when he called her second daughter _Abigail._ Mary, screaming that it was her baby and she would name her as she pleased.

Norah watches me carefully, awaiting any more words on this child who shares her date of birth. I know that Grace speaks rarely of Nuria and Annabelle, and I, even more rarely of Adam, the one before Grace. But I simply can't find it in myself to share these things with my youngest sister. How do you explain that overwhelming grief to someone who has never experienced it? Better to keep her innocent (of this subject matter, at least...) for as long as is possible.

"I should assume so," is what I say, voice a calculated neutral. I can feel Norah's slow deflation-- she hears only snippets of her nieces and nephew, whenever Mary is particularly melancholy. Instead of prodding at me she exhales one long, slow breath, and reaches out to grasp the brass knob on the door we find ourselves before.

--

"Well," I say to Aunt Huilen, as she rubs at her fingers. "That was interesting."

She makes a face that she thinks I can't see. As if there would be anything to draw my attention away from her-- we are the only ones left in her bedroom. "Never mention this again."

"Doubtful. I find it rather hilarious."

"You would," she mutters, but I can tell that she isn't truly angry. Her face is more smoothed over than it has been in a very long time; it makes her look the eighteen years she truly is. "I suppose you will be telling your shapeshifter?"

"Leah. Of course. Though she will be quite upset that she missed it. I'm afraid she's been waiting all day to see it occur."

Aunt Huilen makes a strange noise that I think could be classified as a laugh. If one was half-deaf. "I do believe my opinion of her just rose a bit."

"I am going to pretend you meant that seriously."

"You do that."

Both of us fall silent. Aunt Huilen is still brushing her fingers absently, perched on the side of the bed. Esme had explained the washing and drying machines to her earlier-- and river water never did get_ all_ dirt and stains of blood out of our attire. She had relinquisehed her dress to be cleaned, and begrudgingly accepted a nightgown as a replacement. Pointless, since she would never sleep in it, but it was as close a piece of clothing to her normal dress as could be found. The white of it is slightly shocking against her dark skin and hair, and, if I tilt my head the right way, the glint of her red eyes is barely noticeable. It's easy enough to pretend she is... human.

Unfortunately, Father also took notice of this fact.

"Will your hand be all right?" I ask Aunt Huilen, looking up at her from my position on the beside the bed. She nods curtly.

"Not much can hurt me for prolonged periods."

As if I did not know. We are quiet once again, and I notice that she is staring into the mirror across from her-- or, rather, the half mirror, half shattered sheet of glass. Father's fault, of course, if not his exact doing. I sigh, making sure the sound is soft enough not to attract Aunt Huilen's attention.

Would anyone believe me if I said that I honestly hadn't expected this?

I think back to the beginnings of this conversation, wondering if perhaps I missed the warning signs. But nothing had seemed very wrong when Norah first ushered me inside Aunt Huilen's room, to find my aunt herself standing stiff and straight against the far wall while Father waited, patiently, it seemed, near the wooden dresser, hands clasped behind his back. Even Mary had said nothing-- only swayed as she sat on the edge of the bed, Grace surreptitiously supporting her.

"We have returned," Norah declared.

"Obviously," I felt compelled to add-- ah, well, that may have been a little unneccessary. Norah did not seem offended, only screwed up her face at me before joining her sisters on the bed, flouncing over to sit at Mary's other side. My eldest sister smiled faintly in greeting, long coils of hair knotted behind her head where it wasn't stuck by sweat to her forehead. Really? Father _really_ felt the need to wake her?

"Son!" Father exclaimed, taking a step forward. Adam's face came to mind without warning, sharply and clearly, and I swallowed back the instinctual reaction to grimace. "How lovely of you to join us."

"It would have been more lovely if I had a choice," I returned pleasantly. Mary, whose eyes had fluttered closed by then, offered another small smile as thanks. I thought of Leah, of her poised above me, and was struck with the urge to finish whatever business Father needed to discuss. Before he could reprimand me for my previous comment, I hurried to add, "Norah tells me you wish to discuss plans for Mexico?"

The lines of Father's youthful face hardened. "That I do. You will be going, will you not?"

I could hear the hidden message beneath the words: _unlike your sister?_ I nodded-- of course I would. I was there for Mary, for Grace, for Norah, and so I will be there for this baby too.

Father gave an approving nod; Mary appeared to force her eyes open. Even I could hear the erratic rhythm of her heartbeat. I did not, however, receive an opportunity to mention it, for Father once again dominated the conversation. "Good, good," he enthused. "I will give you the girl's location before you and Norah are to leave."

Norah and I snapped our heads up to him at once-- even Aunt Huilen looked shocked, though she covered it quickly with her trademark expression of indifference. "Norah?" I asked carefully.

"But of course."

No reasoning, no reassurances. Why did I even hope for them? Norah was wise enough not to question this latest development, even if it did involve her directly. Grace had no reaction other than to stroke Mary's back softly, leaving Aunt Huilen and I to stare at each other in our confusion, her uncaring mask dropping slightly. I knew for a fact that Norah was the only one of my sisters Aunt Huilen... well, not enjoyed, but tolerated for long periods of time.

"And the mother?" I wanted to know eventually, when it appeared Father would say no more on the subject of my companion to Mexico.

"What of her?" Father inquired.

"Oh, don't," Aunt Huilen snapped, finally breaking fully out of her seemingly stone-like pose. She leaned forward, and I was forced to look away when Father's perusal of her became less than gentleman-ly. Which was not a rare thing. "Do tell him, Joham."

"Do you speak of her age?" Father asked, in a cultured, specifically surprised voice. "Why, Huilen, for whatever reason does it worry you?"

"Younger. Than. Pire," Aunt Huilen hissed, drawing her hands down to her sides. There was a strange sinking sort of feeling in my stomach-- for I knew Auntie was three years Mother's senior... making Mother only fifteen.

"How young?" I demanded, as Grace watched our trio with thinly veiled curiosity. Norah was staring at her lap, while Mary seemed to be doing quite a good job of sleeping in a sitting position.

Father gave me his surprised look again. "Why, I don't consider fourteen that young. Do you?"

Oh, yes, just about the same amount that I consider human food a delicacy, actually.

Aunt Huilen rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest. "Ridiculous," she spat at him. "A child! You've impregnated a child!"

Father shrugged. I realized, with a jolt, that shrugging was something I did an awful lot of. "She made her decision. I didn't rape her."

_Like you raped Mary._

I was forced to physically bite down on my tongue to stop from saying the words. Mary, half-asleep on the bed, didn't react. It wasn't as though I expected her to-- I'd been through this with her time and time again, and we always ended up simply running in circles. In Mary's head, because she was fertile and he wanted a male, she has no right to call it rape. Because she is his daughter, he has free reign on her body.

Grace and Norah didn't react to Father's words either, but then again, I'm not sure how much they know. Mary, while she will speak of Adam occasionally, never mentions his... deformities. And I am hopeful that this and this alone stopped Father from ever repeating his attempt at a male child... slash grandchild. I did know that Aunt Huilen and I had the same thoughts. I could see her glaze flicker to Mary for an instant, and could only guess at what scene she was recalling. Auntie may like Mary the least, but she does pity her the most.

Father, though he seemed oblivious to mine and my aunt's current recollections, was sure to be anything but. Nevertheless, he forged on with, "That does, however, bring me to my next topic of conversation, son."

I watched him skeptically. "Does it?"

He gave a solemn nod. "It concerns the child's... gender."

Unlike with his previous comment, everyone in the room stiffened. Even Norah, who would not have heard Father's raging upon discovering a third daughter, knew enough to realize that she was part of group with too many members. I wanted very much to go and reassure my youngest sister that it wasn't her-- the only reason Father tolerated me on a regular basis was because of my venom. He thought it wondrous: to blend in amongst the humans so incredibly well, and yet have the ability to poison them with a single bite.

Aunt Huilen, understandably, did not find the idea quite so fascinating.

Father continued, "You know my desire for a second son, am I correct?"

"Very."

He watched me for a moment, his red eyes both a mirror image and completely different from Aunt Huilen's. "If the baby is born male: fantastic! A day for celebration."

"And if it be a female?" I cut in, not waiting for him to go on himself. Father frowned slightly.

"Why, haven't you guessed it? Kill the thing."

A muscle in Mary's jaw jumped, and Norah's mouth fell open before she had the common sense to snap it closed. Grace only looked on sadly, still rubbing her elder sister's back. And, if we are being honest, I must say... I had expected as much.

"I have no need for more daughters," Father said dispassionately, not even glancing at the girls he was referring to. "Kill the girl or leave her. It matters not. Do you understand, my son?"

I knew he was referring, in a roundabout way, to Mary's birth-- when she had gotten herself snared by the umbilical cord; when I reached out and lifted her free before he could leave her to die. He wanted for me to vow that I would not let it happen again. Yet... the only thing that I found coming out of my mouth was, "What of the mother?"

Aunt Huilen raised a hand to her mouth, to cover her sudden frown; I thought that even Mary's lashes moved the smallest bit. Grace was now staring unabashedly as Norah glanced up from her lap. "...Yes, what of her?" Father asked, sounding, for once, genuinely curious. I could not answer for a moment-- only think of Edward and Bella, of Renesmee. Of Edward's tale of biting his wife after the birth.

I had venom of my own...

"I think I would like to change her," I said calmly. Aunt Huilen stayed very still, as though she had known this all along, while Father raised one eyebrow so high the effect was truly comical.

"Change her?" he repeated slowly.

"Yes, what I do with the venom that inhabits my system. I hear it tends to change people into vampires."

Ah, there it was-- Mary gave the smallest of smiles. On the contrary, unfortunately, Father's face contorted in a scowl.

"Absolutely not."

"And why?" I demanded, crossing my own arms. I could see it so very clearly: this baby would have a mother. I would ask her first, of course, but why would she not want to change, to stay with her child forever? "I will get her permission. It will take a week, approximately, but she will be good as new. A mother for your child."

Father's voice grew cold, his eyes sharper. "I said no, Nahuel."

"Oh, how sad. I'm not 'son' anymore."

Aunt Huilen stifled a laugh in the sleeve of her nightgown. "Why not?" I challenged. "Why do you wish to deny your bretheren mothers?"

"You are the only one who still mourns a _human,_" Father pointed out, apparently going in for cruelty. "She served her purpose-- she birthed you."

"You have seen existing proof that mothers need not die!" I cried, indicating the door with my hand as if he would want to walk downstairs to make sure Edward, Bella, and Renesmee were still quite real.

"Isolated case," he remarked with a frown. "Unlikely to work again."

"I suppose we'll see."

"Excuse me?" Father's eyes flashed dark, a sign of his impending rage, but I did nothing to give in. I had gone this far-- why submit to him now? Why deny this child the mother they so rightfully deserved?

"I am going to bite her," I said, my words slow. "Bite her and change her. Give her a life with her baby."

"You wouldn't." Father said it was a casual arrogance, with the assurance that he was going to get his way.

I shrugged. "Whatever you wish to think, Father."

_"Nahuel."_

"Yes, I am quite aware that is my name."

Father's eyes went absolutely black. Aunt Huilen noticed when I did, and shook her head warningly-- not at me, but at him. "Joham, don't you _dare,_" she murmured. He whipped around to hiss at her, heedless of the stares he was recieving from his once-beloved daughters.

"Don't I dare _what?_" he asked scathingly. "Come now, Huilen, surely you can see why I want another son? With the first as useless as this, it's no wonder!"

Grace made a noise this, a quiet one in the back of her throat, but it died when Aunt Huilen took another step forward, looking wary. "Stop," she demanded quietly, and I got the sudden impression that despite the fact that this fight was about me, I was not involved in it anymore.

Father twisted his features until they resembled a sneer-- it was the same look that Mary had on her face earlier in the day. "And why every should I? I don't know why I don't simply send Grace and Norah to Mexico, as if my _son_ could do a better job. Why even count him as a son? He obviously falls under the category of 'failed experiments.'"

I was ashamed to say that the words stung me. They should not have, given what I knew of my father, but feelings of rejection tend to deny all rational thought. I was saved from answering when Aunt Huilen took another step towards Father, her hands clenching together. "That is Pire's son. Don't speak of him that way."

"I repeat: why ever not? Or are you finally regretting that your dear sister died in vain? For such a pathetic child as this--"

This is where I break off, in the present, to take a look at the mirror in tandem with Aunt Huilen. Still partly shattered; unsurprising, considering the forced of which Auntie slammed Father into it. What was the term Leah had used in the front yard this afternoon?

Oh, yes-- she punched him in the face.

It was rather impressive, if I do say so myself.

He didn't bleed, of course, merely stared in shock at Auntie before hissing a few very choice accusations at her that were completely false. I am quite sure that she does not give frequent sexual favors to animals. He stormed from the room, indicating furiously that Mary, Grace, and Norah should follow him. Grace lifted Mary into her arms, kissing me quickly on the cheek as she hurried out, and Norah did the same with both me and Aunt Huilen.

Which leaves the latter two of us here. Looking at the mirror. Wondering exactly how this is going to be explained.

I turn to Auntie at the same time she turns to me. A dark waterfall of hair falls over the side of her face, and she brushes it back with an irritable sigh. "Thank you," I say.

"For resorting to violence in the face of your father?"

"Yes," I smile, and take the hand she used to hit him. "That exactly."

* * *

_a/n: _Well, hey there! ...A day later than my usual upload. :P I just wanted to say that since twilight22lover asked how long this would be (excellent question, since I didn't really, uh, know), I went ahead and wrote up a nifty outline! Which is not so nifty now that it's on my broken computer. But the general gist of it was that there will be around twelve more chapters left-- I get a little blurry on where I cut each chapter off. So _definitely _no more than fifteen.

And that's all. Review? Tell me how awesome Huilen punching Joham in the _face _was? What do think about the names of Mary's kids? (You don't even want to _know _how many name changes the third one went through, seriously...)


	23. Chapter 23

_a/n: _I think it has been established that my update timing sucks D: Let me know if you see any mistakes, as this was edited extremely quickly. They'll be fixed tomorrow. Thanks! :)

* * *

"So. I hear you punched Joham in the face."

Huilen narrows her red eyes at me. "That is not any concern of yours."

"Yeah, it sort of is," I contradict, tossing my right leg over my left and spreading my palms out in the grass. "I mean, you couldn't have taped it? Taken pictures? _Something?_ I was waiting all _day_ for that."

"Then your day must have been rather pathetic and sorely lacking in excitement."

Sometimes?

Talking to Huilen makes me feel like slamming my head into a wall. Repeatedly.

...But I mean this in an incredibly caring way.

"_You're _sorely lacking," I mutter, glancing again around the perimeter of the woods, hoping for Jacob's stupid wolfy self to burst through. Of course he doesn't-- it can't be more than fifteen minutes since we got off the phone.

"Your insults are sorely lacking," is Huilen's sharp answer. I look up at where she perched at the very edge of the long bench positioned right beside the porch steps. Her arms are wrapped over her stomach; her braid falling apart at the ends. She looks, weirdly enough, tired. We don't say anything else, which I guess is kind of a good thing, considering most of our conversations before now have basically involved us being complete bitches to each other. Right now, however, is nothing but awkward. There appear to be several drawbacks to sort of always expecting Nahuel between us as a buffer zone.

I fidget on the ground, playing with the rope tied around my ankle. Jake better get his furry ass over here soon. Nesserella's already playing with Blondie over at the tiny little inflatable swimming pool the vamps dragged out as soon as Future-Freak announced there'd be nothin' but sun today. For once. Actually, Nesserella might actually look halfway cute, splashing around in her pink bathing suit... if Blondie's fucking body glitter of _doom_ didn't totally cover her in little sparkles. Tell me, what is the damn point in wearing and shorts and a tank if you're a freaking cube of ice all the time?

That, the whole "sparkle sparkle" thing, would be one of the reasons I'm sitting with Huilen. Yeah, she glitters whenever she lifts her face to the sun, but her dress covers everything else that just might potentially blind me. The other reason is, well-- and I hope you realize how much it internally pains me to say it --Huilen can, amazingly enough, be somewhat amusing. When she's not pissed at me for, I don't know, ruining her nephew's innocence or whatever.

Of course, that would require Nahuel and I have more than _twenty minutes_ alone at a time.

I turn back to the edge of the woods, to keep watching for Jake, but the smallest shift of the curtain covering the front door's window makes me pause. Slowly, almost cautiously, the door pulls back, finally capturing Huilen's attention. I gape when I do see who it is-- Mary, finally drawing herself out of the house, stepping out into the light, blinking furiously.

She's wearing her yellow dress, arms shimmering vaguely when she descends the porch steps, looking almost dazed. Huilen and I watch her together. Finally, when she sinks down onto the lowest step, I venture, "Hey, Mary."

Huilen shifts her leg, crossing it over the other, when Mary raises her head to look me in the eye. It takes a few seconds for her to do it-- like the motion is too difficult to manage quickly. "Hello," she answers. Without my (super awesome) wolf ears, I doubt I'd have heard her.

"...You feeling better?" I prod. When Mary glances up, I can see the half-moons ringing the area beneath her eyes. "

Somewhat," she sighs. She leans over, plucking a tiny white flower out of the grass, rolling it between her fingers. "Dr. Cullen fed me antibiotics."

I know that part; after Nahuel and I talked again last night, after Huilen punched his dad (...in the _face_), we'd gone to check on Mary. There was a bottle of children's Tylenol sitting on the side table in her room, right beside the gummy vitamins. I didn't even wanna know the vamp's reasoning on those.

"It is good you are improving," Huilen finally says, slanting her eyes at Mary. "Are you outside to get some sun?"

She nods, slowly again, like she's making every tiny movement from under layers of water. "It was recommended," she murmurs, takes a deep breath, then looks at me. "Your Alpha... he calls again, soon, correct?"

"Um, yeah, Jake should be here any--"

"Leah!"

"--minute," I finish, fixing my gaze Jacob's huge, hulking form stumbling out of the trees that I'd been ignoring in favor of listening to Mary. He's fiddling with his shorts, half focusing on me and half on Nesserella, who starts to wave but gets distracted by some toy in her little pool. I start to yell at him, to tell him to get his ass over here, but stop when I realize... he isn't exactly alone.

Embry trots along behind him, shoving Jake's back to get him started even when it looks like our oh-so-incredible Alpha is on the verge of getting distracted by Nesserella. _Really?_ He couldn't have stayed away for more than, oh, _one day?_ Not even that, either. I scramble up from the ground, Huilen hurrying up after me. Hmm. Somebody's a little protective of her half-niece.

"I should inform Nahuel," Huilen mumbles, tugging at her too-long sleeves in what I can tell is a nervous habit. "That man shan't return."

I pause to stare at her. "Who the hell says 'shan't?"

"Are you really questioning my grammar at this moment?"

She has a point.

I wave her back down, not bothering to answer with anything rude (for one time in my life). Mary isn't looking at Embry, when I turn back to check-- only staring down at her hand where it's pressed hard against the wood of the step. That can't be normal.

Blondie is scooping Nesserella up into a towel when I jog over to Jake and Embry, both of whom are only standing around and apparently arguing. Jake pulls me absently into a hug, even as I shove him off to glare at Embry. "The fuck you doing here?" I demand, glancing back one more time. Mary still entranced by her nail beds? Check.

His face quite literally falls. "I just wanted to see her. Jacob said she was sick. What's wrong? Is she okay?"

Sigh. Way to make me feel like a bitch, Embryo. Way to go.

"She's fine. She's outside, isn't she?"

Jake frowns at us both, sparing a second to look over at his little imprint. "Hey, lay off, would you? He's just worried about her."

Of course. Let's rationalize this all with "it's my imprint, I can't help!" logic. As if imprinting myself makes me sympathetic. Is that bad?

"She. Is. Fine," I repeat, crossing my arms over my chest. "Seriously. She even took some meds last night-- that was after she puked her guts out. Just leave her alone, okay?"

Okay, for the record, I am fully aware that I am Not Being Very Nice. But all I can really think about right now is keeping Embry _away _from Mary; because it's still way too easy to hear Nahuel, last night, telling me everything about her. Embry doesn't need to know that yet. He _can't_ know that yet.

Except now I just have to figure out a way to tell him.

...Somehow, I'm doubting there's a Hallmark card for, "Congrats, your soul mate was raped by her father and birthed his deformed child!"

The thought makes me wince. Embry jumps on it in true imprint-wolf form, asking in rapid succession, "Is she still sick? Does she need help? What's wrong with her? Why was she throwing up?"

"Em. Cool it."

He finally shuts up at Jacob's apparently magical command. Obviously, I am not important enough to warrant this.

"Just..." Jake runs a hand through his hair, fucking it up even more, not that I feel it's an appropriate time to mention this. "Okay, just let him try to talk to her. She's supposed to be into him, right?"

All three of us turn. Mary is still sitting exactly as she had been, looking small and tired and pale. Her eyes haven't left her hand. I touch my tongue to my eyetooth, wondering how many possible ways this could go wrong. Then I think, again, about Nahuel last night, describing the intricacies of Mary's life.

Maybe an imprint is just what she needs.

I take in Embry, his face happy and hopeful. "All right," I mutter, and curl two of my fingers together: _come on._

* * *

"And?" Nahuel asks, when I stop in my story. "He went, I assume?"

I stretch even farther across his lap, wondering if subtle wriggling on my part will make the fingers on my back drift down to the 'inappropriate' zone. "You assume right."

We're both quiet for a beat.

"I hope you realize that long pauses are annoying, rather than dramatic."

"Ha ha." I flip over, so his hand has no choice but to relocate to my stomach. "You want the long descriptive version, or the short, to-the-point version?"

"The latter, if you will. Jacob will be returning soon."

"Wooh. Fun." I take a breath, preparing for the next part. "So, Embry went up to her. She blinked at him, said 'excuse me', got up, and walked back inside the house."

Cold, Mary. That's cold.

Nahuel winces. "Poor Embry."

"No 'poor Mary'?"

"That too," he allows, playing with the ends of my hair. "But she should know better than to be so rude."

"So she was having an off day." I shrug, which is very difficult to accomplish while lying down. "Embry'll be back. Like he can stay away."

Nahuel opens his mouth to say something, but I sit up, still half across him, and kiss him first. It would, actually, be a very nice moment, if Jacob had broken that annoying as fuck habit of interrupting me at pivotal points in my freaking life.

Because, you know, kissing is pivotal. Extremely so.

"Time to go!" he yells, shocking me off my imprint. "Come on, stop making out with the half-vamp, let's hit the damn road!"

"We're not even going on a road," I mumble, standing up. "Idiot."

"Expression, Leah. It's an expression." He claps me on the back, then waves at Nahuel as Seth pokes his head into the vamp's living room.

"Time to go."

"I know," I growl, kicking at Seth's annoying shin on the way out. He only laughs, going inside in my place, to what? Entertain Nahuel? Whatever. As long as he's not shadowing us, it's cool.

Jake and I walk outside, me muttering obscenities as often as I can get away with it. Like the situation doesn't call for them. Really, Nahuel's bite-the-mom plan would be overwhelming on it's own, but...

"This is gonna suck, isn't it?" I sigh, when me and Jacob turn our backs on each other to strip.

"Probably," he answers calmly, and I hear the faint shudder as he phases.

Yep. So, my imprint's decided to change a human into a vampire after she has a half-vamp baby. I can deal. It's cool. Not so cool is this part, where we have to tell Sam.


	24. Chapter 24

_You know, this whole 'two different packs' thing can be sort of a bitch,_ I complain to Jacob. He answers in his usual kind and caring manner:

_Dude, you freaking begged me to let you stay in my 'crappy little renegade pack.' You don't get to whine._

_I did not_ beg _you!_ I protest, shoving his shoulder slightly. It ends up making me stumble over a tree root with my hind leg. Jacob snickers at me— well, snickers in his head. Same difference.

_That's what you get._ I grumble, kicking my speed up a notch. Jake doesn't even try to catch up... I mean, God forbid he mess up his pretty Alpha fur.

_Y'know, implying that I'm gay isn't going to distract you that much,_ he points out. Rightly. But like I need to admit that. _You just did. Aha..._

You can see why he's our Alpha. He's qualified with his bounty of empathy and maturity. Or not. But then, neither is the Other Alpha. I still say I should have that honor, but nooo. Apparently, I'm not feminine enough for Sam to kick out of his pack, but _just _feminine enough not to be the Alpha. Make sense? No, not really. Sam doesn't, in general.

I appeal to Jacob again: _Can't we just, you know, let Nahuel go bite the chick and then bring her for Show and Tell day?_

_As well as that could work... not gonna happen._

_You are so annoying when you go all 'Alpha knows best' on me._

_I do know best, but that's not 'cause I'm Alpha. Jacob Black always knows best._

_Please tell me you aren't going to start referring to yourself as 'Black, Jacob Black' in normal conversation._

_When are our conversations ever normal?_

He has a point.

I run even faster, ducking underneath low-hanging branches and leaving Jake behind. Like he cares. We're only going to the cliffs, after all— I know he's thinking that if I keep running so fast I'll just skid right off them and into the water. The boy needs to stop watching so many damn cartoons, funny as they may be.

Sigh. I may, however, have to watch a few myself after I leave what is sure to be the Meeting From Hell. And you know it's bad when capital letters are abused. I still don't get why we can't just say 'fuck you Sam' and bring back Joham's baby mama after she's changed. Considering it works, I mean. Not that I even mentioned that to Nahuel, who I think is freaked enough as it is, though he does a pretty awesome job at disguising it.

But still. She's fourteen. Yeah, he changed Huilen, but that took a week anyway and she was four years older to start with (which is just weird, if you ask me. Not that anyone did, but whatever. Most eighteen year olds are still out getting drunk at parties. Where's Huilen? Taking care of her sister's kid after he chewed his way out of the womb and getting turned into a sparkly vamp. Fun times). And wouldn't fourteen be sort of toeing the whole 'immortal children' line? Or maybe not. Jake told me those freaky-deaky twins from the Vamp Mafia are only thirteen.

It figures. I know I went through my psychotic weirdo phase at that age.

...It just never ended.

_Damn straight,_ Jake thinks, effectively sealing my opinion of him as a dumb ass. _Don't try and cover your feelings of intense love for me, Leah. I can see right through you.  
_  
_Perve._

That shuts him up. Ha, I win. Again. As I often do against Jake. Obviously, it isn't that difficult to beat someone with a brain the size of Nesserella's thumb.

The air's scent gradually gets saltier the farther out I run. Wooh, almost to the cliffs. My joy is unparalleled. I wonder how long it takes me to put the brakes on in wolf form? I've never exactly noticed. Hmm. Damnit, Jake's got me thinking again. How close could I get to the edge of the cliff's before I stop?

_You're insane._

_Thank you, I've noticed._

The ground under my paws hardens, roughens, and subtly tilts upwards. I kick up the speed even more, so that the things in my peripheral vision start to blur. Hell yeah, I love being the fast one. Well, if it doesn't get me catapulted off a cliff... is it possible to phase in midair?

_Yeah. Quil tried once. It was fucking awesome._

Idiots.

My fur keeps getting shit caught in it (once again, hazard of actually growing out my damn hair), but I try to ignore it. I'm almost to the tops of the cliffs, and not exactly slowing down. I can stop... without going over the edge, I mean. Right? Right.

_Wrong. You're going to fall off and DIE._

Thank you, Jacob. Your endless cheer enthuses me so.

I jump over a fallen tree branch, craning my neck to try and catch a glimpse over the rising rocks of how far I have to go. The muscles in my legs, all four of them, are straining, and it's seriously tiring me out. Maybe I shouldn't have started running so long ago— save the speed, and all that. Ah well, too late now. I shoot over the final rise, so that everything in front of me is flat and I can finally see where I'm heading. And that would be...

...Straight into Sam and Jared.

_Fuck, fuck, FUCK_! I mind-shriek. There's a sound from behind me like a mutant hacking up a fur ball, which would be Jacob laughing his wolfy ass off. I slam my paws down, attempting to ignore the 'what-the-hell?' looks I'm sure are present on The Other Alpha and The Other Beta's face. (It's because there's no Alpha-Beta combination better than me and Jake. Totally.) Dude, it would be so awesome if I actually made skid marks-- but unfortunately I don't think that's happening. Instead, I basically just skid-without-the-marks, and try to salvage a tiny bit of dignity by not scrabbling with my claws. It works, okay?

Well, barely. When I finally do come to a complete stop, there's all of about six inches of cliff still in front of me. Yeah, I'm _so_ not having a heart attack right now or anything. Smaaaart idea there, Leah. Let's almost plummet off a cliff. That'll solve everything.

Finally, you see your own stupidity.

Shut the hell up. I growl out loud without realizing it, which I'm sure makes Sam and Jared think I'm totally sane. Whatever. I turn around just as Jacob comes lumbering up here, his big stupid tongue lolling out, and still internally laughing at me. Not even bothering to listen to my rant, he just heaves himself onto his hind legs and phases back, easy as you please. Yes, Jake, I really love seeing you naked with no warning whatsoever. No, really.

If it's possible to flounce as I wolf, I do, off to the nearest huge freaking rock. I hear Jake fumbling with his pants as I phase behind it, ripping my sundress from around my ankle and pulling it over my head quickly. Yeah, you wouldn't believe the crap I get from the guys about the whole no-underwear thing... but really, they think I have time to untangle bra straps every single time I phase? I'm about this close to making them try it just to prove a point.

I walk out from behind my rock slash dressing room, grimacing and picking brambles out of my hair. Stupid fur. Jake is standing across from Sam and Jared, who are apparently attempting to look cool with their Hulk-arms crossed over their chests. In reality, it just makes them look sad. Not that I say that out loud.

"So," I say, in a very calm and cool manner, walking over to Jake. "Wassup?"

Sam scowls. Oh, I'm sorry, have I infected your very serious and dire meeting with the dreaded slang? This is the only chance I get to use it, all right? Nahuel just sort of smiles politely and nods whenever I do around him, when he really has no idea what the hell I'm talking about.

Jared kind of nods at me and Jake. "Hey, guys."

Barring that whole 'I'm completely obsessed with my girlfriend' thing, Jared is actually tolerable, despite being Sam's Beta/best friend. "Hey," I answer, still messing with my hair. Jake doesn't say anything, since he's too cool for that shit.

Sam interrupts the almost-civility with his douche bag-ness. Of course. "Why did you want to talk to us?" he asks bluntly, directing his question at Jacob. God forbid he acknowledge my existence. It's not like I'm _important_ or anything.

Jake narrows his eyes. "Imprint stuff. There a reason the rest of your pack's hanging around?"

Goddamn. Now that he mentions it, it's all I can do not to smell the rest of Sam's pack of suck. Mostly behind all the rocks I passed when I was barreling my way up here, I'm pretty sure. He's really _that _sure we're going to attack him? Or he's really _that _useless without the rest of his pack?

Sam ignores Jake's pissed off tone. Which I do too, but that's different-- like the whole, 'I'm the only one allowed to be mean to my brother' thing. "Precaution. What about your imprints?"

Ugh. Jake shakes his head, deciding not to bother about the rest of the pack hanging around. Good, since it's worthless, and not even what we're up here to argue about. Because there _will_ be an argument. Like we're all that peaceful and cooperative. "You know Nahuel's dad is here?"

"Yes."

Oh, I'm Sam, I'll give monosyllabic responses because I'm pissed off you're the real Alpha and I'm not.

Yeah, you know that's what he's thinking.

Jared looks over at me. "Did Embry really imprint on one of the other half leech's?" he asks interestedly. I wince a little, but don't cut him off the way I did with Emily on the phone.

Jacob answers. "Yeah, he did. Her name's Mary." He takes a breath. "Look, that's not what this is about, okay? Joham told Nahuel last night about what's going on—"

"What is going on, then?" Sam interrupts. Really, shut up. He was about to tell you. Christ. I glare at him, but it seems to have absolutely zero effect. Damn. Jake frowns and then turns to me.

"Dude, can you think of a good way to word this? 'Cause I can't."

"Um, sure," I say. Even though that's a total lie. But whatever. I'm good at winging it. "Okay, so you know how Joham has made it his mission in life to knock up human chick's with half-vamp babies?"

Neither Sam or Jared say anything in response, which I decide to take as meaning that they do know, rather than they've spontaneously gone deaf. Or spontaneously gone dumb, which is far more likely and less of a stretch. I grapple with my next words for a minute before finally deciding to go with, "Well, oops, he did it again. Nahuel and Mary'll be having fun with their new baby sibling in, like, a week. 'Kay Jake, can we go now?"

I manage to spin around before Jake's hand catches me on the shoulder and forcibly tugs me back. Not cool, man. Though it is sort of amusing to see Sam and Jared staring at me like I just announced the imminent apocalypse, or that Emily and Kim are secretly vampires in disguise. Which to them I guess are one in the same.

"You've gotta be kidding me," Jared says after awhile.

"A lot of things in my life seem to get that reactions nowadays." I shrug. "Oh, and also, Nahuel and Norah are going down to Mexico to help the chick give birth."

"Norah?" Jared asks, frowning.

"Nahuel's other sister," I explain. "The youngest. Long, dark hair."

Sam finally snaps to life, apparently not giving a crap about Norah. "Leah, you aren't serious."

I scowl at him. "Um, hello, do you not see my _super-serious_ face? Of course I'm serious! Now Nesserella can have a new baby to play with."

Both of them exchange a sideways glance at 'Nesserella,' but don't mention it. Good, because there's not even an explanation. "No," Sam says impatiently, and it's so _weird _how I can totally remember sleeping with him and waking up in his bed the next morning, like the memory is so weirdly juxtaposed with how he looks now. It's sorta creepy. "I mean, you can't be serious about— he is _not_ biting her."

Daaamn. I also forgot how fucking quick Sam could be on the uptake. At his words, there's a faint growl from around us, but the wind blowing makes it so I can't tell exactly where it's coming from. I give the general area the finger anyway. Jacob jumps in with, "It's not your decision. We just wanted to let you know so you guys don't freak out when a whole new vampire shows up, all right?"

And also, we'd look really bad if we didn't tell you until after the fact. That too.

Jared's eyes look like they're about to bulge out of their sockets. Not a good look on him. "How can he do that?" he asks, sounding more than a little shocked. Dude, you're a freaking _werewolf_ (shape shifter, whatever. I get sick of correcting myself on that). I'm sure you've heard worse shit.

"Um, because that way the kid could actually have a _mother?_" I suggest, my tone one of holy-crap-that's-so-blindingly-obvious-you-idiot. I tend to use that tone a lot.

"At what cost?" Sam demands, taking a step forward. Ooh, intimidation. Now if he started _sparkling,_ then I'd be _really _scared. We all know the true predators sparkle.

"Look, man, we didn't come here to argue," Jacob intervenes. Right on, Jake. "We just came to tell you. Yeah, the changing might not work, but if it does, there's gonna be a new vampire around, and she's going to be protected by the treaty. Her _and _her kid." He glances at me, apparently asking if I have anything else to say. I shake my head and start backing up, to my trusty rock/dressing room. Hmm. Actually, I might go back as a human. Since Sam's probably gonna phase and all, and I can hear him through he and Jake's super Alpha-connection. Or something. And I definitely don't want Sam in my head _ever_ again.

Jared opens his mouth like he's going to say something, but Sam frowns at him and backs up too. I hear the vague shuffle of a bunch of wolf paws around us, proof that his pack is a bunch of stalking psychos. Jacob and Sam do some weird manly nod at each other, all while looking like they want to rip each other's face off. Dude, I would pay money to see them hug it out.

"Goodbye, Leah," Sam says, right when I turn around to walk back into the forest. I freeze for a second.

"Um, 'bye?" I try. What's up with _that?_ He reports my imprint to the goddamn Elders and then tells me goodbye in a slightly nice way? Fucking bipolar freak. I roll my eyes, listening to Jacob say bye to Jared and then pull off his pants.

...It's those sentences that never fail to make my life sound like a crappy porn movie.

I hear the slight shudder of him phasing, followed by Sam and Jared. I walk slowly enough down the cliff's that all three of them blur past me, and then a collection of dark smudges follow from my left and right— the rest of the pack. They're all long gone into the trees by the time I reach them, ducking under a few branches and deftly hopping over a collection of thorns. Sam's pack has run here a lot: there's an easy-to-see trail in the dirt made by their paws. My feet start to darken with it as I walk, not helped by my tendency to step in puddles of mud that haven't completely dried from the last time it rained.

I purse my lips together, grabbing hold of another branch to help myself over my fifth or sixth pile of mud. That entire meeting thing wasn't so bad. I mean, Sam didn't punch Jacob in the face or anything, which is something I count as a victory. But then, the rest of his pack kept making annoying noises whenever me or Jake talked, giving me the _tiniest_ impression that nobody's happy about this. Like they can do anything about it— my imprint, my pack's issues.

I look up at the sky, wondering vaguely what time it is, and am greeting by the ever-lovely and unexpected gray. Apparently it was only sunny for that entire one hour this morning. I force my way through a tangle of brambles, thinking about whether or not I should ask Esme for something to eat when I get back. Then again, I can always just steal whatever the hell Jake's eating (you _know_ he will be— this is Jacob Black, for God's sake). I'll bet I could make Nahuel try it, too. I mean, I've only got two more days to force him to eat human food: he told me last night that his dad wants him and Norah to leave this Monday.

I try to ignore the stupid little jab of sadness at the fact, because it's not like he's going to get eaten by a cactus or something. He (_and_ Norah) are coming back, right after the mom finishes changing. If she does. Which she will. Totally. It's not like they'll be able to take her on a plane back to the US if she's writhing in pain in the window seat and trying to suck the other passenger's blood as soon as she stops.

Speaking of Nahuel... I take a deep breath (accidentally stepping in more mud... shut up), and attempt to catch his scent. He mentioned that he might go hunting again today, to be extra-prepared for Mexico. Which will also be his first time around human's with him actively trying _not _to suck their blood. I was thinking of making a little inspirational pamphlet to help with these urges, but...

Nope, no Nahuel scent. Damn. I wipe the muck off the bottom of my foot with the closest leaf I can find, and then stop, sniffing again. No Nahuel, but... Norah? I take another slow breath, trying to filter out all the scents except the one I know is hers. Aaaand— drum roll, please –yup, that's _definitely _Norah. I grin, biting my bottom lip, and scrub my dirty hands over the front of my dress. How hilarious would it be to sneak up on her right before she pounces on her little deer or whatever?

Very hilarious, if I do say so myself.

With a series of careful sniffs, I finally manage to wander over to where I'm sure she is. Super-wolf senses, you have not failed me. Norah's smell is clearer now, more sharply defined, though it's sorta weird she hasn't moved for so long. Probably _stalking her prey_ or something. I lean against the wide trunk of a tree, smirking, and then finally thrust myself out into the clearing beyond it.

I actually see the deer first, not Norah. It's like Bambi on steroids, and lying obviously dead in the grass, one tiny hole in its neck the only evidence of how it got that way. I wince at the smell, something half-rotting, and it's just right *then that I notice— this clearing? Is the one that cleanly runs through the boundary line between Sam's pack and ours, the middle of it actually _being_ that line. There are marks in the grassy dirt, knees, I can tell, where Norah must have skidded when she went to nail her deer, exactly how I skidded on the cliff.

Norah's actually sitting about a half-dozen feet across the line. Not exactly good, but I doubt she'd have a bunch of pissed off wolves on her tail about it, considering she's got actual proof in the form of a dead deer that she's only over it to get some lunch and not to wreak havoc on La Push. Rolling my eyes (come on, I just _burst dramatically_ into the clearing, and she doesn't even jump? Girl's good), I walk over to her, sliding my hands down to my hips.

"Hey, Norah," I say. And then I smell the blood.

And then I see she's not sitting— she's leaning, heavily, back on one arm, half-collapsed, the other arm wrapped so tightly around her middle I'm surprised she can even breathe. That god_damn _deer, that's why I couldn't smell all the fucking blood even though Norah's hand is practically died completely _red _with it. "Oh, _shit,_" I hiss, and almost fall to my knees in an effort to pull her arm off her stomach.

She whimpers, clenches her jaw, and I notice that her face is drained of whatever blood the half-breeds have running through their systems. Probably because all of it's busy coming out of her fucking _stomach,_ the only source I can guess at. I tug at the arm there, pulling it away, and first notice that part of her dress is completely shredded, that her arm is soaked _red._

Just the way my vision goes when I see the three long, deep claw marks in her stomach.

The three long, deep claw marks that are scarily similar to the ones running down the side of Emily's face.

I hear myself in my memory, explaining to Jared: _"Norah. Nahuel's youngest sister. Long, dark hair."_

Long, dark hair that brushes the ground when her head falls back, her eyes closing, a dead faint.

Holy fuck.

Did I help them recognize her?

I pull her up, trying desperately not to touch the marks on her stomach. I can tell that pieces of fabric from her dress are embedded in the wounds, pieces of grass, pieces of dirt. "Who the hell did this?" I whisper, then turn, running straight to the Cullen's.


	25. Chapter 25

I am_ so_ freaking grateful for Edward-Mind-Rapist right now that it sort of scares me.

But this might be because thanks to his creepy telepathy, I'm greeted by Carlisle the second I stumble up to the porch steps. He's leaning over and taking Norah out of my arms before I can register what's going on, turning his head to call back into the house for _something_. It better be some damn donor blood— I know they stocked up on that shit for Bella-Cannibal when she was pregnant. And it appears that a helluva lot of Norah's is streaked down the front of my dress.

It's sort of useless trying to catch my breath. Edward slams open the front door, holding a white case in one hand and using the other to try and push Nesserella back into the house. She goes, but only because a whole stream of her aunts and uncles block her way, all of them talking way louder than they need to since they're _vampires_ for God's sake and then Blondie's freaking at Carlisle about some shit and Edward interrupts with a _fuck it_ look on his face to rip Norah's dress down to her hips, exposing the long slashes even more fully than before. Then Alice is grabbing Jasper's arm and pulling him away, out into the grass, and somebody yells for Mary and Grace and Nahuel and someone else shushes them and Carlisle is taking some lethal-looking thing out of the white case to pick at Norah's slashes, not even bothering to move her inside, and—

—and Joham flings open the door, so hard that the glass in the window cracks down the middle when it slams into the wall opposite. His eyes are _black,_ he's abso-fucking-lutely _raging,_ but I can't pay attention to Mister-I'm-Suddenly-A-Caring-Father when Nahuel steps out after him. I realize vaguely that Mary and Grace and Huilen come out after him, Mary letting out a cry so soft I hardly catch it over the general chaos of everything else.

I stagger up from where I'm half-collapsed against the porch railing, holding my breath as long as I can to keep from having to smell Norah's blood all over again. It's sickening, coppery and slick, and is already starting to drip down the wood of the porch as Carlisle works on her, Edward and Blondie and Joham all gathered around them, and somehow Mary has managed to slip between all of them to hold Norah's head in her lap. Nahuel is next to me in an instant— I fall into him without thinking, clutching at the skin of his shoulders even as someone starts yelling at Jasper in the background, as Bella opens the door just in time to grab Grace's hands and try to calm her down when she looks just as raging as her father.

The blood scent is making me weirdly dizzy. That's pretty insane, since I've smelled a lot worse at that damn newborn battle last year, when almost all the pack got messed up. Maybe it's because this time, I'm not guaranteed that she's going to heal in a few minutes.

If wolves can kill vampires, what can they do to a half-vampire?

Apparently, we're going to find out.

Nahuel forces me to look at him, running his hand along my face until he gets to my jaw and then pulling it up. "What's happened?" he demands. Huilen, still standing beside him, nods along until someone who sounds vaguely like Alice shouts that she needs a vampire, a vampire to help with Jasper. That makes no sense to me, but then again I'm pretty freaked at the moment. Huilen moves so quickly the ends of her braid blur, and then it's just me staring at Nahuel, who's still waiting to know what the hell happened to his sister.

"Hunting," I say, then wonder if that makes sense. Damn, the blood really is getting to me. That and everyone yelling over each other, and Nahuel's narrow-eyed glances over to Norah every few seconds. Norah, still sprawled across the porch with her dress half-off, head in Mary's lap while she bleeds everywhere, still not opening her eyes.

"Hunting," I repeat. "She was hunting. She was— Christ, she was over the line, the boundary line, she was on Sam's territory—"

"Did he do this?" Nahuel asks when I pause for breath. His hand is still on my face, but he keeps looking away, first to Norah's still body, then to Grace near the door, snarling something at Bella. I shake my head.

"Don't know, could've been anybody from that pack— they were all there, earlier, when me and Jake were telling them about how you and Norah… and she was only a few fucking feet over the line, _shit…_"

I'm dangerously close to descending into babbling. I realize then that Grace, leaning away from Bella, has been listening to me explain what happened. "The wolves did this?" she murmurs, and I nod right as Norah screams.

All three of us turn, Bella running out into the front yard where we can hear someone roar in anger. I don't even wanna know what's going on down there, but I'm sure it's better than watching Norah arch her back so hard it comes completely off the floor, to try and sit up until grasping the fact that it hurts too much.

"Don't we have any damn anesthesia?!" Blondie yells at Edward.

"Yes, Rose, I keep in my back pocket, linked to my key chain!"

Edwardo has a sense of humor. Who knew? What a fantastic time to show it. Carlisle shuts both of them up with an irritated glare, then orders Blondie to go get him more gauze. When she opens the front door, I get a split-second glimpse of Jacob, holding a freaked out looking Nesserella in his arms, far away from the window.

Mary's long fingers stroke Norah's forehead, even as Joham curses at Carlisle, hardly looking at her. Oh, God fucking forbid he lose his daughter, like he isn't going to have another friggin' kid in a week anyway. He could care less.

The vamps in the front yard are still fighting, and I'm about to check it out when Grace grabs hold of my upper arm, constricting so tightly that I'm worried I might get finger-shaped bruises for, you know, half an hour. "The wolves did this?" she asks again. "The other wolves?"

I nod _yes. _I back up from Nahuel when he mutters something Spanish under his breath that I'm pretty sure is a curse word. Edward's head whips around just as Grace lets go of me, so suddenly that I stumble back. Christ.

"No!" Edward tells her, but it's way too late— I can guess her thoughts when she sniffs me, once, memorizing the scent of _wolf._ She flies off the porch, straight for the trail I had come out of with Norah, making it look pathetically easy to dodge Bella. And oh _Christ,_ that's why half the fucking vamps are in the front yard— holding back Jasper, even while he growls and snarls, desperate for Norah's blood. Actually, all of their eyes look a little darker. Is half-vamp blood better than human?

It does not appear that I'm going to find out. Huilen cuts in front of Grace, wrapping an arm around her tiny waist, and lets out a violent curse as the smaller girl rips teeth across her free hand. They keep struggling, and I almost don't want to know who's going to get their way— Huilen, taller and older, or Grace, trained to fight by Joham? Nahuel watches them with me, expression appropriately torn, then swings himself over the railing to land elegantly on the grass so fast that he's halfway to his aunt and sister before I catch on to the fact that he isn't beside me anymore. I give my sun dress the mental finger, fisting the loose fabric in my hand to jump over the railing too; probably better to avoid being directly across Jasper and Emmett and Alice (especially when the last two are the ones holding him back by the arms). I pull a Bella and trip over a fucking rock, but still manage to catch up to Nahuel a few feet from Grace and Huilen, still fighting vehemently.

Norah shrieks from the porch, the sound carrying so long and loud that it makes me wince. After it fades I can hear her quiet sobs, final proof that half-vamps can cry real tears. I reach out and grab Nahuel by the arm, forcing him around to face me.

"What the hell are you doing?!"

He looks at me like I'm an idiot. Yeah, like I don't get that look enough. "Going to La Push," he answers deliberately, then turns back around.

It takes me a second to connect the dots. But when I do, I lunge at him, flipping myself across his side so I'm standing in front of him. "No fucking way," I say, and mean it. "Seriously. No."

Joham bellows something at Carlisle as Nahuel steps back. I think it's because he's listening to me until he crouches, the same as Grace is doing while she waits for Huilen's next move. "Why not?" he demands. "They hurt Norah."

It is the simplest logic in the world, but I fight it anyway. "You don't even know which one! What, are you gonna go maim all of them just to be sure?!"

"If need be. Please move."

I widen my stance, leaning down to touch my hand to the ground. "Fuck no."

Y'know how people say you can't argue with your imprint? That it hurts too much? Maybe it's just with me, but that's bullshit. We're arguing right _now_ and I don't feel any of the super-special strings connecting us twanging with despair. What about when Nahuel narrows his eyes and tries to go around me with his awesome half-vamp speed? Nope, still nothing. Or how about when I swear and move in front of him again, backing myself up a few feet in the process? Nada. Ooh, or maybe when he ducks around Grace and Huilen, making me go faster than I want to catch him? Nope. What about when I slide a hand down his arm and _shove,_ pushing him away from the trail to La Push? Ha, no...

_...fuck._

It doesn't hurt him, not in the least, but Nahuel hisses involuntarily when he swings himself back into a crouching position. I lean over again on instinct, then realize oh _shit_, it might not hurt him but _fuck_ does it hurt me.

_Not right not right not right!_ my mind shrieks at me when I deflect him again, this time accidentally giving off a growling noise from the back of my throat. I hear Grace shrieking from our left, apparently having finally been restrained by Huilen, but I can't concentrate for more than a few seconds because Nahuel does some weird fake-right-fake-left-go-right move that ends up making my head spin. I catch him again, but to do it I have to lunge onto his back, knocking both of us to the ground since he really wasn't expecting me that fast. So, my one virtue finally comes in handy.

My head starts to ache when he snarls softly, flipping us over so that I'm underneath him and he's free to get up and leave again. This is _so_ not how I imagined our first time in the position. Before he can move more than a few inches I sink my nails into his arms and flip us again, ignoring the steady throb in my temple and the way my limbs are starting to shake. Not because I want to phase-- because it really does _hurt this much_ to fight him, ridiculous as that sounds. We're all geared to protect our imprints; it's why Jake's inside cuddling Nesserella so she doesn't see any of this. It's like hell to physically _fight_ them.

Yet... that doesn't stop me from doing it. It's not like I can let him go down to La Push and fuck up the wolves for scarring his baby sister, much as the imprint part of my brain is saying "Screw it, let him be!" Hell, _I _want to go fuck up Sam's wolves for touching her, but I don't think any of the Elders would be very sympathetic if they knew that after the fact Nahuel went down and decimated some shit.

"Hey!" I say, digging my feet into the ground to hold me when he tries to flip us again. "Stop it!"

Well, hello there Pulitzer Prize-worthy argument. How _you_ doin'?

Nahuel ignores me. Shocker. Before he can push me to the ground I scramble up, tugging him with me and propelling him in the other direction. Jasper and Alice and Emmett are farther away, farther from Norah's blood, even though it's still worryingly easy to smell from here. Nahuel makes another freaky sound in his throat, turning around so quickly that he actually _flings_ me to the side— though the ease with which he does it might have something to do with the fact that I can hardly stand up anyway; that's how bad my legs are shaking. One hell of a weird evolutionary tactic to stop a person from hurting their imprint, if you ask me.

I cry out when I hit the ground. Involuntary reaction, I swear I can't help it. I'm not used to, you know, getting _harmed_— isn't that for those loser humans? It does, however, make Nahuel look back, still half-crouched, still with hard narrowed eyes. It takes one long second— but his face finally softens into worry way before it seems like he can help it. Using the same speed that had just worked against me, he's at my side in an instant, tugging on my arms to pull me to my feet.

I don't even realize my knuckles are bleeding until he runs his thumb over them. "Are you all right?" he asks quietly, not looking me in the eye. I can understand this, considering that we totally just battled it out. Kiiinda awkward.

"Yeah. It'll heal soon," I say dismissively, still wobbling a little. What the hell, ancient wolf ancestors? Very _bad_ tactic for stopping someone from hurting their imprint. If Norah's blood wasn't making me light-headed, this sure as hell is.

Speak of the devil. Nahuel and I turn together towards the house when Norah cries out again, just in time to see Blondie lifting her up, still without the top part of her dress covering her. She's maneuvered carefully inside the door, Mary following Carlisle and Edward, Joham nowhere in sight. Figures. Bella, Alice, and Emmett are even farther off now, along with Jasper, who appears to have a shredded shirt but isn't snapping at people anymore. Which is always a plus. In fact, the only people still moving are Huilen and Grace, and that's only because Grace keeps biting Huilen's hand when she moves it too close to her mouth.

"_Mierda,_" Huilen hisses, glaring down at the smaller girl. "Are you quite _finished?_"

Grace growls. "No."

Cue bite.

Huilen turns on me and Nahuel, the arm not restraining Grace folded behind her head. "Thank you for your _stunning_ help," she snaps. "Perhaps next time I am being scarred by your sister, you will have the joy of taking photographs."

...What a bitch.

_Pot, kettle,_ I remind myself, taking a step forward to grab Grace by the waist. She struggles, snarling the way Nahuel had, but I keep my arm low enough that she can't reach it with her mouth and hold onto Nahuel with the other for balance. "Hey," I say, even as her brother takes hold of both her wrists so she'll stop flailing her arms. "Look hon, going down and cremating a few wolves won't make Norah better, okay?"

"You should say that," she sniffs haughtily. "They _are _your kind."

Heeey there bitch-Grace. Wassup? "If you go down there," I attempt to reason (with my brilliant skills in that area), "you won't get to see Norah. And obviously, she's awake, and she's probably really freaked. Hence, you should go comfort her."

Huilen crosses her arms over her chest, one sleeve slipping down to show scars in shape of teeth already formed in her skin. Lovely. "We should all see Norah," she says, for once making sense. Oh, behold this miraculous day. "I wish for news of her condition."

Wow, Huilen actually has feelings for one Nahuel's sisters? Huh. Grace has stopped fidgeting, and I cautiously loosen my hold. She doesn't do anything except shoot a longing look at the house, then turn to her brother. "I agree," she announces. "I wish to see Norah."

A memory of the bleeding slashes flits through my mind, but I shove it away in favor of leaning against Nahuel's arm. He gives me a curious look, but I shake my head. We fought, big deal. Lots of couples do it. Just not, y'know, with the whole pinning each other and growling thing.

Except for the really kinky ones, I guess.

No one gets a chance to say anything else before Grace takes off, pulling tight at the hem of her dress so it doesn't blow up in the wind. Smart girl. Sighing, Huilen goes after her, fingering the marks on her hand almost absently. I bet she'll treasure them forever.

I slip my hand down to take Nahuel's. He brushes fingers through my hair, plucking out a leaf and letting it flutter to the ground. "I apologize for hurting you," he tells me. Now, see, this Iike— it took fucking _days_ to get Sam to say he was sorry, the stubborn bastard. (Yet again with the pot/kettle thing. Maybe I should turn down the hypocrite knob just a tad.)

"I'm sorry I took you down," I answer. And smile. Because I _so_ did.

Nahuel rolls his eyes. "Whatever you say."

"...No, seriously, I did."

"Of course."

He brushes another leaf out of my hair. We walk back over to the house, hand in hand— because we're just that damn cliché —to go and check on Norah.


	26. Chapter 26

"AB positive."

Nahuel and Grace glance up at the same time. "That's good," Grace says guardedly. "That's the kind with the most possible transfusions, is it not?"

Carlisle nods, then walks across the room to the bed Norah has been lying on, motionless, for the last hour. He puts a hand on her forehead almost absently; I shift in my seat next to Nahuel. "It is. But in the tests I ran, well."

Grace hooks onto the last word like it's bait, shrugging off Huilen's hand. "Well, what?"

He takes a breath. "Norah's normal blood has microscopic traces of venom in it— I assume you and your sister also have such traces. They're very small, but incredibly numerous. That would be why I don't want to give her the human blood yet; we're not sure whether her immune system will fight against it. I was assuming not, since she ingests it so often, but..." He traces a finger along the seam of Norah's hairline. "As Rosalie pointed out, there is quite a large difference between drinking it and having it run through her veins."

Mary slits open an eye. I almost jump— I'd been sure she was asleep. "What would happen if her immune system fought it?" she asks, voice weary.

"Most likely? Weaken her even more."

...If that isn't encouraging, I don't know what is.

Mary nods briefly to acknowledge the answer and then closes her eyes again, leaning against the headboard of Norah's bed. She's been lying half-on, half-off the thing since everyone first came in, one hand covering Norah's. I don't think anyone's even tried to make her move. The bed is in the middle of the room, clouds outside the wide window next to it casting Mary and Norah in weird half-shadows. Grace leans over the couch shoved against the far wall, settling her cheek on the armrest.

"When will she wake?" Grace asks, the question all of us have been thinking but no one wants the answer to. Carlisle shakes his head.

"We don't know." Always _we,_ never _I._ "Edward keeps catching glimpses of thoughts, though they're not very well-defined... we take this to mean that she's only asleep."

Only asleep. As in, _only asleep, not in a coma. _Can half-vamps even go into comas? Could you even go into a coma from blood loss? Damn myself for not going to med school.

I rub my thumb over the side of Nahuel's hand, thinking. Well, I've been thinking this entire time, actually: mostly about how I'm going to rip Sam limb from limb for letting one of his wolves get so out of control. Very macabre. But then, I was never a real "sunshine and daisies" kinda girl to begin with. With me it was always more, "psh, we're in La Push, there's no fuckin' sunshine and daisies, get real."

Very cheerful, aren't I?

Huilen sighs— it's the first sound she's made in about a half hour. Apparently, the Cullen vamps have gotten a little too good at mimicking humans. She's been sitting just as still as Norah since we got here, only moving her mouth to answer Grace's apologies about the half-moon scars on her hand and palm. "Where is Joham?" she asks, turning automatically to Nahuel, who's sharing the armchair with me on the other side of Norah's bed.

Nobody answers for one long moment. "Probably checking on the mother," Mary answers, this time not bothering to open her eyes. "It doesn't take long for him to travel."

"And for you all?"

Mary raises her left shoulder up and down. "A little less than a day. Not long."

Huilen doesn't say anything else, letting the pathetic attempt at small talk die. Sigh. As if I would have done any better. I lift my head up the tiniest bit from Nahuel's chest, his arm on my back shifting to accomodate. Norah still hasn't moved. Mary still hasn't moved. Grace still hasn't stopped staring at either of them. What a lovely, depressing picture we all make. I decide to push my luck on the whole "I wouldn't have done any better," looking up at Nahuel. Who is watching Norah, waiting for her to blink, to twitch a finger.

"So," I say, aiming for an airy tone but guessing that I probably just sound like an idiot. "When are you guys leaving? You know, for Mexico?"

Nahuel glances down at me. "Two days. This Monday."

So soon. I bite back those words just as Mary adds disinterestedly, "I will need to collect my things."

There's one long beat of silence, when even Huilen looks surprised. "You mean to accompany me?" Nahuel finally asks, wording the sentence like he's stepping across a minefield. Even then, Mary still keeps her eyes shut, hand clasped over Norah's.

"Yes. I'm not buying new clothing along the way; I shall pack later tonight."

Nobody seems to know how to respond. Of course we've all been secretly preparing for the fact that Norah might never wake up... but saying it so plainly is like standing up and screaming to be jinxed. At least to me— maybe to them it's just being realistic. But judging by Grace's wide eyes and Nahuel's narrowed ones, I'm not betting on it.

"Father wanted Norah to come," Nahuel points out gently. His hand slides up the length of my side, pulling me closer to him. "He still does, I'm quite sure."

Mary sighs, rolling closer to Norah. "I don't give a damn. She's not going, even if she still wants to when she wakes up."

When she wakes up, not if she wakes up. How would it feel, I wonder, to be Mary? To have lost three children and be on the verge of losing another, if not biologically mine?

I'd deny it might be happening, too.

"Father will be angry," Grace warns, her voice flat, ringing with a truth she doesn't want to tell. "If he thinks Norah's healthy enough, he'll send her."

One of Mary's arms comes up, to cover the top half of her face as if she's shielding her closed eyes from the non-existent light. "I don't care if she's fucking resurrected by Jesus Christ himself. She's not going."

My eyebrows raise at the language. Who knew Mary had it in her to talk like that? But apparently she's done it before, because her brother and sister only look away. They look out the window, at Huilen, at each other— anywhere besides at the two clasped hands on the bed, one moving over the other to trace what, if I crane my neck, can be seen as nothing but the two long lines of a cross.

* * *

It takes another two hours and Esme standing imploringly in the doorway, but eventually Grace leaves for another room in the house. I don't exactly blame her— it can't be helping her much to sit here and stare at her unconscious baby sister. Hell, it's not helping me much, and I'm not even related to her. Blame the imprint. (Which is what I do for everything nice I do and feel, but...)

Anyway, it's around that time that I notice Huilen fidgeting in her seat. And, y'know, vamps... they don't fidget. They just _don't._ It's like, against the law of friggin' nature or something. But she keeps brushing her hair behind her ears over and over, tapping her fingers on her knees, sucking on her bottom lip. It is both seriously alarming and seriously annoying, even though Nahuel and Mary don't seem to notice.

"Dude," I finally sigh, after ten minutes of her repeatedly twisting a strand of hair around her finger. "What is _up_ with you?"

Her eyes instantly narrow when she turns in my direction. Fabulous. Except... oh. Oh. "_This,_" she snaps, one long finger pointing at her blackened eyes, "would be what is _up_ with me."

Dammit. Unfortunately, I cannot let anyone out-bitch me. It's a sickness, really. "Awesome, you wanna eat Norah," I say, sinking further against Nahuel. Huilen does that weird-vamp hiss back; I catch Mary subtly rubbing at her temple.

"Half-breed blood is better," she mutters, shaking back her hair back and yanking it into a braid. Apparently not realizing that everyone in the room has super-skillz (and yes, it must be a 'z.' It makes it sound cooler) in the hearing department.

"...You know for sure?" I ask, even as Nahuel props me up so he can better stare at his aunt. Who now has the universal look of, _oh shit, did I just say that out loud? _I think Mary might even have turned her head a fraction of an inch to listen better. Not that it matters, since Huilen seems to have decided to pretend that nobody has said anything to her. This, of course, is always the best route to take.

"Auntie?" Nahuel says warily. "Please tell me there are no childhood memories I'm repressing."

I snicker into his arm, glancing through my hair at Huilen. She finishes off her braid without looking at him.

"Well..." she says slowly. "...You were small, and it obviously didn't do any real damage... unless one takes your mate into account, in which case it seems that your brain may have suffered quite a bit of trauma..."

Yes, let's get in that one last jibe at me. God forbid she didn't take that chance.

"You _drank_ from me?!"

"Well!" she cries again, still not looking at him. It appears that I am disturbingly good at uncovering family secrets. I so need my own talk show. "Oh, hush, you were tiny, you had a cut, I wasn't even a year old for God's sake!"

Nahuel looks torn between amused and horrified. "That's— I don't mean to offend you, Auntie, but that's... sort of disgusting."

It is. Extremely so.

"I didn't kill you, did I?" Huilen says, narrowing her eyes again. "So you should be grateful."

"I am. Why don't I remember this?"

"You were ill. I doubt you were even conscious. You cut yourself stumbling on the way to lie down."

Hmm. I look up, at the line of Nahuel's jaw, and try to imagine him young. Claire's age. Try to trace backwards, remap his face into a little boy's. The effort it takes makes me frown. Dammit— what did he used to look like? He and Huilen keep talking back and forth, apparently now arguing over something that took place decades before my mother was born. 'Cause that isn't weird at all. In fact, they get so into it that when Mary first coughs, I don't even pay attention. They're way too amusing. But she coughs again, and again, and I start to get worried she's choking on something (like what, I don't know. Dust? Grief? Her hair?). It sounds really unhealthy, anyway. So I turn to her, start to ask what's wrong, and realize that she's not the one coughing.

Norah's lips round out the sound like it's a muscle memory, her throat contracting so tightly I'm worried she might _really _start to choke. But then the fingers of her closed hand, the one Mary's not clutching like it's something precious (which, to her, it really is), uncurl one by one, revealing the lines of her palm beneath— the indents, the valleys, and the one long life line curved down the middle.

* * *

_a/n:_ You notice how my updates keep getting more spaced out? …Well, I do, anyway. Blame it on the end of freshman year. Summer is in two weeks, which means that updates will be, if not more frequent, at least more regularly posted : )

Also, something I kept meaning to mention but (obviously) repeatedly forgot: I completely made up the fact that Huilen is eighteen and Pire was fifteen. That's my imagination at work.

And if anyone wanted to know— the next chapter includes Leah and Sam, Mary and Nahuel, and Huilen and Jasper. It may be the first split POV chapter, since there's so much I want to write but that I can't do from just Leah or Nahuel's point of view (there was actually one chapter, I think eight or nine, that was from Huilen's POV, but I scrapped it because, er, it wasn't her story). And… that would be all. Congrats to you for making it through my author's note of doom!


	27. Chapter 27 & Interlude IV: Nahuel

It takes another half an hour for Norah to open her eyes.

By that time, Grace has been pacing from her bed to the door so quickly that I keep looking for the dent I'm sure her feet have made in the floor. Mary hasn't moved from beside Norah, but her gaze keeps flickering over to Edward, standing in the doorway, whose mind-raping powers have actually come in handy for the second time today. I know, I'm shocked too. Apparently, all Norah is thinking about is the same thing we're all waiting for… opening her eyes.

"The anesthesia Rosalie injected made her incredibly tired," he tells us, watching Norah's fingers open and close again. "Just give it a little longer to wear off."

Mary rolls her own eyes, but doesn't answer— just slips her other hand into Norah's newly opened one. I lean against Nahuel's side, feeling his arm go around my waist even as he never stops looking at Norah: the freckles across her nose, the way her breaths get faster when Mary bends over to lay a kiss on her temple.

"This is ridiculous," Huilen murmurs from Nahuel's other side. Considering the distrustful glances she keeps giving Edward, I'm pretty sure she holds the same contempt for his freaky-ass power that I do. "How much anesthesia did you give her? She's a girl, not a horse."

Maybe I'm imagining it, but I think Norah's lips might have twitched into a smile at that. Then I remember how exactly that anesthesia got into her system: through the openings in her stomach, the only way to get anything inside her. Impenetrable skin really can be a bitch. I look down at the thin blanket covering her, and then wonder why the hell I did. It's easy to see the dark, jagged lines through the fabric, scars even her half-vamp body won't be able to heal. Carlisle came in earlier to check on her, and Mary had asked about that— apparently, even normal vamps get tiny hairline cracks in their skin when limbs reattach to their bodies. According to him, Norah's scars wouldn't have been nearly as bad if he hadn't had to reopen them after they had already sealed closed to take out all the grass and dirt that had gotten inside.

"How's she doing?"

I glance up, then do the instinctive thing and make a face. Bella is peering around Edward into the room, her still-red eyes flickering over Norah.

"Fabulous," Mary says, before I can interject with my own answer (read: insult). "It isn't as if she's lying on a bed unable to open her eyes or move any major limbs. I always find that quite encouraging, myself."

_Damn._ Where the hell did this family get their sarcasm gene? Bella's face crumples for a second, but she evens it out a lot quicker than she ever could have as a human. Oh, God forbid anyone is rude to her. I'm sure that's never happened before. She's too _special. _I do notice that she directs her next question at Edward (since he's too whipped to be so much as impolite to her). "When will she wake up?"

"She is awake, so to speak. Just too tired to open up her eyes."

"Oh! Well, that's good, right?" Bella turns to us, brightening. "Right?"

Yeah, Bella-Skank. Just right.

Luckily, I don't have the energy to actually say that out loud, and Mary doesn't seem to care about Bella anymore. Then again, not many people do. I sigh, untangling myself from Nahuel, and announce, "I'm going to go find Jake. Come get me when she's talking."

Nahuel murmurs his assent. I duck around Grace on the tail end of her pacing routine and slide past Eddie and Bells, who are busy staring into each other's eyes and doing their "oh my gosh, we're so in loooove" thing. I mean, fuck spending time with their daughter— they're busy being in eternal, everlasting _love._ And I'm pretty sure that thought is making Edward wanna trip me as I walk past him, but he restrains himself. How amazing.

"Yes, I know."

Ugh. I take back the 'amazing' comment.

"I had a feeling you would," he calls to me. Dude, I'm halfway down the freaking hall, I think that's an indication to _stay the fuck out of my head. _I roll my eyes and flip him off without looking behind me, which I happen to think is quite a nice feat.

Okay, time to find Alpha Dearest. And he would be…

"The living room."

Goddammit.

"I _knew _that," I mutter, stalking to the left. At least I remember where the damn room is; the last thing I need is to get lost in this labyrinth of a house and have Seth find my skeleton in a few years or something.

There isn't a door to the living room, just a wide archway. I can smell Jake and Nesserella right when I step inside, and, cue shock, they're both sitting in front of the fireplace. Jacob looks up as I'm walking (barefoot, of course) over the plush white carpet, and he smiles nervously at me.

"'Sup, Leah?"

I pull a Nahuel and ignore the couch beside the imprint couple, flopping down onto the ground. "Don't ''sup' me."

He snorts. "You forgot to call me 'young man.'"

"My mistake."

We lounge in silence for a minute, me leaning my head against the cushions of the couch behind me, him watching Nesserella and whatever she's scribbling on a piece of paper. I open my mouth to start the inevitable, to ask what we're going to _do _about what happened Norah, but Nesserella reaches up and presses her hand to his cheek before I can say a word.

Typical.

Jacob laughs after a few seconds, patting her on the head. "I know it's boring. Just do it for a little bit longer, okay?"

She gives a plaintive sigh, but grips what I can now see is a crayon in her hand again. Man, is she actually _coloring?_ "What, is she recreating the Mona Lisa?" I snort. "Hey kid, you should go color somewhere else. I need to talk to your babysitter."

Jacob starts to say something (probably reprimanding me for calling her 'kid,' but hey, I don't really care), but Nesserella blinks up at me and cuts him off with, "Somewhere like where Norah is? Yes, this sounds enjoyable. Goodbye."

I slap my hand over my mouth before Jake catches my grin. I believe that I may have… somewhat underestimated Loch Nessie. She's standing up and halfway across the room with her paper and little box of crayons before Jake manages to make sense of what she's doing. "Hey!" he yells.

"Daddy says hay is for horses," Nesserella calls back, one hand on the doorframe, and then she's off down the hallway. Jacob stands up too, intent on keeping her away from the Scarred Chick. I sigh and grab his hand to tug him back onto the floor (well, to pull him forcefully back onto his ass, actually).

"Dude, she's not getting past her parents. Let it go."

He nods. "Right. But I don't know why they won't let her see Norah… Ness likes her a lot…"

"Um, Jake, you may not have noticed since you were sheltering Nesserella inside, but her stomach looks like it came straight out of a fucking horror movie." I pause, a realization dawning. "Wait a minute, why the hell were you inside the whole damn time?! Did you not see me and Nahuel fucking _battling it out?_"

Jacob's mouth falls open a little. I have the urge to stick a dog bone into it. "Wait, what? 'Battling it out'? The hell is that supposed to mean?"

Ugh. Men. "It _means_ that Nahuel wanted to go and rip Sam's pack a-fucking-part, and _I _had to friggin' _tackle_ him to get him to _stop._"

"…You emphasized a lot of words in that sentence."

I wonder if general annoyance is an acceptable defense for murder.

"Focus!" I spear my fingers through my hair, groan, and let my neck tip forward so my forehead rests on my knees. "This is some serious shit, dude. This is like Emily, the Sequel."

Jacob blows out one long breath of air, reaching out to rub his hand over my shoulder. "I know. And we'll deal with it. I'm the goddamn fucking descendant of Ephraim Black— I can handle it."

I laugh as he adds, "And I'm really sorry about the whole 'Nahuel death battle' thing, too. Must've been hell."

"Something like that."

I open my mouth to ask if maybe it would be okay to, y'know, go dismember Sam (man can't keep control of his pack, that's for damn sure, so until we get the name of who did it I'm blaming him), but there's a bang, then a curse, then the smell of trees and leaves, and Seth pokes his head around the archway.

Aw, I haven't seen Seth in forever… well, a couple of days, anyway. He's been hanging with Mom and trying to chill out the Elders, who have apparently been freaking just the tiniest bit now that three wolves have imprinted on half-vamps. His hair's all mussed from running in wolf form, and although he has a shirt hanging over his arm, he doesn't seem to be in a hurry to put it on. "What happened?" he asks, stepping into the living room and leaving smudges on the carpet with his dirty feet. Not that now is a good time to mention that.

Jake holds out his hand when Seth reaches us and they do that weird masculine hand clap thing. "What've you heard?"

"I was running over to see Leah and Quil was phased. He showed me how he saw her carrying Norah back here. What happened? Who did it?"

"Emily the Sequel. No friggin' clue," I answer. "One of Sam's pack."

Seth, actually behaving like a normal human being, falls onto the couch. I lean my head against his leg with a sigh as he wonders out loud, "Who would be stupid enough to do that?"

"Dunno," Jacob says, spreading his arms wide and resting them on the cushions behind him. "I've been thinking maybe one of the younger ones. Y'know, the ones who phased when all the other leeches came down?"

This sparks my interest. "Why them?" I demand, then move my head and mutter, "Bro, you have way too much leg hair."

"Huh. That does make sense." Then to me, ignoring the leg hair comment, he says, "Because Sam doesn't want them to phase much, right? Makes it easier for them to go back to normal. So they probably missed all the mind-images of Nahuel's sisters."

"…And so they didn't know it was my imprint's sister when they attacked her?" I venture.

"Right," Jacob says. "It makes sense."

Hmm. "But what about, you know, Jared and Colin and Brady and Paul? Especially Paul. Plus Jared was human at the meeting thing earlier with me and Jake and Sam. Maybe that had something to do with it…" Wow, I'm making so much sense.

"Paul has a temper," Seth allows, apparently seeing my point. I seriously need to make an effort to talk to him at least a few times a day. Kid's pretty awesome. "Quil said the whole pack was there in wolf form, right? Maybe he got pissed about how Nahuel's gonna bite the mom—"

"Wait, how the hell did you hear about that?" I interrupt. "You haven't even been around."

Seth stares down at me. "Uh, you know that thing where we all share thoughts? Yeah, that comes in handy sometimes."

…Okay, okay, so I'm not the only sarcastic Clearwater. Sue me.

"That still doesn't make it okay," Jacob points out. And he is very, very right. "I mean, it isn't like she was trying to, y'know, drink from somebody… that'd be different. But Norah's what, eighteen?"

"Seventeen," I correct thoughtlessly. "In real years."

"Right. We've got age in our side— she's really young. She's younger than Leah."

"Way to make me feel like an old crone."

Jacob rolls his eyes. "You know what I mean, girlie wolf."

Much as I hate to be the bearer of bad news… "But she was over the boundary line, Jake. Yeah, by like a dozen feet, but still. She was _over _it. And you know Sam's gonna go all technical on us and say that means they could do what they wanted with her."

"But they had to _scar _her?" Seth raises his eyebrows. "That's going way too far. They couldn't have just freaked her out a little? Jumped out from behind a bush and growled like the devil or some shit?"

Seth really can be the personification of 'awesome' sometimes. "That's true. Why couldn't they have, Jake?"

"Who am I, Buddha? I don't _know._"

"Well, I don't think of you as a fat religious figure, actually…"

"Really? 'Cause I just think of you as fat."

"Bastard," I say lightly, kicking his shin as hard as I can from this position. "I'm damn sexy and you know it."

Jacob smirks and uses one of his outstretched hands to mess up my hair even more. "Not as much as Nahuel does."

"Um, ew," Seth mutters. "Can we get back on track?"

"Right," I nod. "No more talk of my sexiness."

"Or lack of."

"Shut up, Black."

"_Anyway,_" Seth says deliberately. "Christ, how are _you_ guys Alpha and Beta? Ephraim Black's probably rolling over in his grave."

"Gee, thanks for that vote of confidence." I tip my head back so I can see Seth's face. "So what do you suggest, baby brother? Since you're so all-knowing and everything." Though we really do need a game plan for this. And soon. Seth slumps against the couch, looking pensive, still with

his shirt flung over his arm. Is it the werewolves' goal in life to spend most of their time shirtless?

"We could call an Elder meeting," he finally suggests. "Or get Mom to call one, whichever."

Woah. I shift uncomfortably, wrapping my arms around my knees. "Hmm, yeah, Elder meetings always work out _so _well. Remember that one about me? That I wasn't at? And how Dr. Vamp has to give me a gynecological exam?" So Nahuel's dad is a creepy bastard… but the drama he brings has at least pushed this out of my mind for a while. Until now. Thanks, Sam's fucking pack. Ugh.

Seth's hand comes over the top of my head, where he rubs my hair the same way Jake did. What is up with them and my hair? I'm not a poodle. "Sorry, sis. I didn't mean to…"

"Yeah, I know." I shrug away from his hand. "Whatever."

There's a tiny awkward pause. Until Jacob looks over at me and says, I swear to God, "Damn, Leah. You know what I just realized? If you and Nahuel had a kid, it would totally bring about the fucking _apocalypse._"

What. The. Hell.

"_Excuse _me?!"

Is there an even an appropriate _response_ to that? Besides bashing Jake's head in, I mean. But he goes on obliviously:

"Well, it'd be part vampire and part shape shifter, right? So it would be pretty much invincible against _everything _and… holy crap, wait, no, it wouldn't cause the apocalypse, it would take over the fucking _world._"

We're all silent again… but then Seth starts cracking up. And that makes me crack up. Because _shit, _the kid would have my fucking temper, so hell yeah it'd take over the world. We laugh so hard that Jake has tears in the corners of his eyes, and I'm ignoring Seth's leg hair of doom by burying my face there since every time I look at Jacob I start giggling even harder.

We only sober ourselves up when Nesserella skips into the room, still clutching her crayons in one hand. She's sort of half-pouting, apparently having been denied access into Norah's room. Instead of crawling into Jacob's lap like she usually does when he's near her, though, she waves to Seth, stretches up to pat his cheek (leaning really clumsily over me, I might add), and then crouches down to look into my eyes.

Creeepy.

"Momma said I should come get you, Miss Leah," she says softly, only after she half reaches out her hand and then drops it in a hurry to her side. Good memory.

"Um, what for?" I ask, even while I stand up. Is it—

"Because," Nesserella says, sinking into the spot I've just left, "Norah wants you."

--

_Nahuel_

--

Norah yawns and lets her head fall against Mary's chest again, eyelids drooping. Mary runs a hand through the tangled strands of her dark hair, scooping them off of her neck to cool her. "Are you hungry?" Mary murmurs, even as Carlisle leans over her to open Norah's mouth gently and look inside. For what, I have no idea, but he seems pleased with the results. "Or thirsty? I'll hunt and bring you back something, if you'd like."

A head shake instead of verbal answer. Rosalie had brought another blanket a few moments earlier, to hide the dark shades of the scars from their owner. No need for her to see those until she had to bathe. Aunt Huilen shifts from her position at the foot of the bed, surveying the scene with unmistakable ill ease— Mary sitting one side of the mattress, Norah leaning on her like a rag doll; Grace on the other edge of the bed, and me standing over them where I will not fit.

My aunt and I have never been one for intense displays of affection… and so I must admit that I haven't the slightest clue on what to do right now. Mary knows because she was meant, from the marrow of her bones, to be a mother; Grace knows because she has always shown what she feels without restraint. How to relate to Norah how much love I hold for her, my youngest sister? Her constantly changing language, forever crookedly-parted hair, endless supply of useless knowledge...

Is this any fraction of what Mary felt when she saw her children lying still and dead in her arms? Norah looks so sickly pale, yet I can't stop staring, burning her image into my eyes— is that why Mary insisted that she hold her babies, every last one, even when childbirth left her weak and panting? So that even when she buried them, she'd have that memory?

My thoughts trail off when Norah looks up at me. Everyone pauses, in fact, waiting in tense silence. "Where is Leah?" she mumbles, glancing around as if she has already come to expect that Leah will usually be found at my side. Of course, I would prefer that she were, but she has things that must be spoken of with Jacob and Seth at the current time.

"Bella's just told Nessie to go get her," Edward assures her from where he stands in the doorway. I don't believe he's moved since we brought Norah inside of here.

Norah nods. Her eyes slip shut, and I wonder if she is going to sleep again, but then she says, still so softly that without advanced hearing it would be difficult to discern, "And what of Father?"

Out of instinct Mary and I look at one another. "To Mexico," my eldest sister says guardedly. "To check on the mother of our sibling."

Or so we assume. It seems the most likely of all explanations— after all, Father was never around for the birth of Mary's children… or for their burials. He conveniently disappeared when Grace got into a fight with a rogue vampire passing through their land and had her leg sliced open. I know that the other vampires here fear that he has gone to do what Grace and I tried to: punish the wolves of La Push. But I doubt this very greatly, and I can see that Mary does as well. Much as he showers love upon Norah for her mastery of different tongues, and upon Grace for her unique semi-power... he would not seek vengeance for us.

That would mean he cared for us in the first place.

Grace raises her head to catch my eye, rubbing Norah's back in rhythmic circles. Before she can say anything, however, Edward steps aside, and the movement allows Leah's form to fill the doorway.

"Look who's here," Mary whispers, propping Norah up higher. Leah walks over to the bed, pausing only to give me a small half-smile. She sits on the edge, right below where Mary's feet rest, her dark hair shielding part of her face from me.

"What's up, Norah?" she says, quiet, but I can hear the gin in her voice. How has she come to care so for my sisters in such a short time? Remarkable.

My youngest sister offers my mate the most radiant smile she can give under the circumstances— and this, perhaps, is what makes it the most beautiful smile she has ever formed. "You brought me here," she says simply. "Thank you."

Leah pats her hand. "Yeah, well. I had some free time."

My lips quirk upwards despite myself. Even if I'm not sure how to judge whether or not I truly love the woman as a whole, I can say without doubt that I love her ability to bring humor into everything. Grace leans over to loop one arm around Leah's neck, kissing her lightly on the lips. Even if Leah may not recognize the gesture for what it is, I can and do— Grace offering her the same greeting she gives to Mary and Norah; to her sisters. Which, as she told me last night, my mate is as good as.

Leah turns to face me. She opens her mouth to speak, but at the last second movement beside Edward at the doorway draws both of our attentions there. Her lips, rounded for speech, fall into a grim line at the sight of her brother. The strange reaction confuses me for a moment… until Seth dangles a small cellular phone before him, making a face.

"Jared," Seth announces. I frown; the name has no meaning for me. "He said Brady was coming back from patrol and smelled… well." His eyes find Norah, hunched over Mary, and trail down to her stomach. "Y'know."

Leah starts to answer— one syllable in, however, she blanches and mouths instead: _"Norah's blood."_

I take it that subtlety is not Seth's specialty.

"So?" Leah asserts in response to her brother's nod, even as she squeezes Norah's hand one more time before standing. "Christ," she mutters, "can we get one day of peace from them?" She lifts her arms to the ceiling, stretching. I suddenly find it prudent to lock eyes with my eldest sister (who becomes very irritating to me when she pulls herself from her haze of relief at Norah's awakening to glance at Leah and then raise a suggestive eyebrow in my direction).

"Jake says we should go down the to the Rez now," Seth says, tucking the cellular phone into his pocket. "The whole pack's probably at Sam and Emily's, since it's dinner time. We can jump 'em."

Grace laughs out loud, and Leah rolls her eyes. "Yeah, that's always the best course of action," she deadpans. With a sigh, she waves a hand at Seth and continues with, "Okay, but give me a few minutes, I have to get ready for the rant of the century. Gotta stock up on those swear words."

Seth grins his approval. "Cool. You wanna stay at home or come back here after we're done?"

"Shit, I don't know. I'll figure it out."

With a few more playful snaps at each other, Seth finally ducks back into the hallway. Leah runs a hand over her face after he's gone, exhaling one long slow breath. Aunt Huilen purses her lips, steps back from the bed. I notice Edward incline his head towards her, but before I can inquire as to whatever is going on in her head (although I am not sure that I really want to know), she brushes a few stray wisps of hair back from her face and murmurs, "Sleep well, Norah," then hurries from the room.

Leah raises her brows at me; I shrug. I learned a long time ago not to bother Auntie when she wants to be alone. Leah walks over to me, lifting up my arm so she can stand beneath it as though it were the most natural thing in the world. Which to her, I suppose it is. "We're gonna go call Sam out on his shit," she announces. "Like, soon."

"Have fun?" I offer.

She grins. "I will. Anything you want me to say for you, Norah?" she calls to my youngest sister.

Norah tilts back her head before answering, in order to let Carlisle probe gently at her throat with glove-covered fingers. The purpose of this escapes me, but he appears happy with what he finds. "Tell them that I hurt," she mumbles, yawning into Mary's hair. It makes my heart constrict violently; Grace makes a pained face as well. No, I do not see my sisters nearly as often as I wish— in a perfect world, we would have grown up together —but how could that distill the hatred I have of them being injured? God knows I raged enough at Father when I found out the details behind Adam's… conception.

Leah shifts beneath my arm, looking up at me with badly disguised resignation. "Alright-y then. I think that's my cue to head down to the Rez."

"Do try and maim someone for me."

"I'll work on that."

We kiss quickly, lightly. I work on attempting to memorize her scent as it trails behind her on her way to the door that Edward, resolute, still guards, though his wife is beside him now. Leah waves halfheartedly at all of us while Jacob rushes by, mutters something that sounds like a goodbye to "Bells," grabbing her by the hand.

"That's considered sexual harassment," I hear Leah complain from down the hallway, and then the sound of a slamming door, then silence.

…Silence but for Norah's breathing, that is. They're slow and even enough that when Mary turns to Edward, expectant, I can guess what her mental question is. "Yes," Renesmee's father answers, relaxing his posture for the first time in what seems like hours. "She's asleep." He pauses. "Rather deeply, in fact."

None of us expects Mary to be the one to speak up. "Good," she says decisively, and, with the utmost care, extracts herself from beneath our youngest sibling (for now, that is…). Grace allows Norah to fall back onto her, sweeping hair from her forehead while cooing in her ear. I watch Mary, hands still shaking slightly from her recent fever, smooth her dress across her hips and raise her head to meet my eyes.

"Brother, come and speak with me?" she asks— but in the tone she has perfected over the decades, which lets me know quite clearly that I am not to deny her this request.

"If you wish it," I say, moving away from the bed where Grace and Norah lie. Edward is still and stoic, Bella clutching at his hand where she stands beside him. She offers me a smile as I pass by, though I cannot help but wonder if this is only because I am the only one who does not subscribe to the use of Renesmee's somewhat revolting nickname.

Mary brushes past me, leading the way to what is obviously the front door, her posture perfectly erect. One of the many things Father insists she learn, along with the correct way to wear her hair and how to hide the rolling _r_'s of her natural tongue. Much the same way he hides his English accent from all he meets, though that one is at least easy to see the reasoning in; to me, at least. I may have… accidentally, of course… stumbled upon the few records he keeps from his human life— the only way I know that he was born not Joham, but John.

My sister opens the door and, quite courteously, holds it open for me. I nod my thanks, descending down the porch steps, at once wondering when Norah will wake again, when Leah will return, and (warily), what Mary wishes to speak with me about. Whatever it is, she doesn't want it said around Grace, which immediately puts me on guard. We walk together into the grass around the very edges of the trees, Mary only stumbling in her steps slightly. I give a mental sigh; she needs bed rest as much as Norah.

It is only when I lean against a large, seemingly oak, tree that my eldest sister pauses and turns so that she may face me. "Yes?" I prompt, folding my arms over my chest.

Mary's eyes, when they meet mine, are blazing.

"I. Can. Not. _Believe. _You."

The sudden intensity of her words makes my own stutter. "Excuse me? What on earth have _I _done?!"

Mary whips around, the wind pulling her dress tight across her legs. "You think you've played no part in this?" she hisses. I wince, remembering far too late that Mary is much more dangerous, not when she is screaming, but whispering.

"Sister, I truly do not know what you speak of," I say, wondering if perhaps I should abandon my tree to back up just the smallest bit farther.

A sneer makes its way onto Mary's face. I've always hated that look on her. "Well, let me make you a _list, _brother," she says, her voice gone from abhorrent to deadly calm. Oh, for the love of God, what have I gone and gotten myself in to? She begins to pace.

"Who's hurt Norah? Yes, that would be your _mate's_ kind. Who has apparently formed some sort of… some sort of _bond _to _me? _Oh, yes of course, that would be your _mate's _kind. Who stopped you from seeking vengeance for your hurt baby sister? Why, how shocking, your mate _herself!_"

I narrow my eyes at her. "What are you implying, sister?"

She gives a derisive shriek of what I assume is meant as laughter. "Implying? I imply nothing! I state plainly that blame for this lies square on your idiotic mate's shoulders!"

"For God's sake, Mary, don't _even,_" I snap, surprised that my patience is worn thin after so little. She's ranted and raved to me before, for reasons even lesser than this, and it's always taken me long stretches of time to even muster up a temper. Apparently bringing Leah into the equation renders me just as volatile as Mary tends to be.

"Don't even _what?_" she demands, hands hard on her hips. The wind tugs her hair this way and that, giving her a somewhat psychotic appearance. "You know it well as I do, brother. Her kind hold resentment for her love of you— why do you think Norah lies scarred inside the house?!"

"Do not be ridiculous," I order, straightening my spine against the tree. "A horrible misunderstanding, nothing more. You think I care not for Norah's injuries? More than I would if my own arm were severed!"

"I don't care what you think it to be! Good Lord, just keep that woman _away!_"

"Who are you, Aunt Huilen? She is not _that woman— _Mary, would you get a _grip _on yourself?!"

Unable to resist any longer, I reach out to still her harsh, incessant pacing. As soon as my hands touch her shoulders, however, Mary twists by her waist and wrenches my fingers from her body so sharply that when I fly back, the tree in my path groans, creaks, and finally crashes to the ground— me still alongside it.

I gape at my sister. Did she just _shove _me into a _tree?_

Mary seems almost as shocked as I am. Her hand comes up to cover her throat; her brows knit together. For a moment, we only stare at one another. I have no idea what Mary may be thinking; my own thoughts revolve solely around the wrestling matches we've had over the years. I've almost always won… though Grace often mocks me by way of saying that Mary lets me do so. Suffice to say it may have been some latent bit of masculine pride that kept me from believing it (and masculine pride is all but vestigial, being raised by my aunt and spending most of my free time with my three sisters). Until now, that is.

Mary moves first, uttering a tiny cry and all but falling to her knees. I detach myself from the tree, flinching at the bark that feels embedded in my back, and go to her, lifting her up by the elbow. She shakes in my arms, her head hot against my shoulder. It takes me several more seconds to realize that it isn't her skin, but her tears.

"Why do you weep?" I ask softly, trying to remember how I comforted her after Nuria— my hands move of their own free will to rub her back in the same circles I've seen her caress Norah with. Her breaths grow shorter; her own hands wrap so tightly around me that I fear for my circulation.

"Why shouldn't I weep?" She coughs out the words as though they leave a bitter taste in her mouth. "Norah, Norah, Norah…"

"Is perfectly fine— is perfectly _alive._"

"Don't you _see!_" Her nails dig into my flesh, tears growing even hotter. I lay my chin atop her head, not interrupting just yet. "It was almost the opposite! Oh, God, Nahuel, this is all my _fault!_"

I recognize that this is not the time to laugh, although her words make me feel like doing so. "Whatever do you mean?" I ask instead, hoping to calm the hiccups that her breaths are becoming. "You've just told me that my mate was to blame."

Mary sighs shakily, then gasps in the next second. "I don't— I didn't mean— Nahuel, you don't _understand._"

I decide that honesty would probably work best at the moment, given the situation. "No, I don't. But I want to. Tell me, sister."

It takes almost a full minute for Mary to answer. Without realizing it, I've begun to rock gently on the spot, trying to calm her still, though nothing appears to soothe my eldest sister. The tracks her tears have left down my chest begin to dry as she stops crying, turning her head to the left so that her ear lands right on the skin above my heart.

"I hated her," she murmurs, as though revealing her deepest secret. "So much."

I pause a moment in my ministrations, puzzling this response out. "Who, sister dear?"

With another cry she jerks away from me, eyes rimmed with the red that only true tears can bring. She spears a hand through her tangled hair, gasping in another small breath. "N-Norah," is her answer, as she falls against the nearest tree (that she has not uprooted, that is). She sinks to the ground, old rainwater soaking through her dress. I freeze, unsure of what to do next.

_Hated _Norah?

"She should have been mine," Mary whimpers, tilting her face up in a manner that suggests she expects me to reprimand her. But how could I? More water drips from the tree branches, streaking her face as surely as tears had. Her hair falls to hide her shamed face. "I h-hated her, Nahuel, don't you understand? _My _daughter should have had her life, it was _my _daughter I should have been holding after I gave birth— not her!"

The words, the blatant truth that they hold, cause her to descend into sobbing. She folds into herself the way I've seen her do only once before— the day when she smelled of the alcohol that ran so deeply through her system, the day she finally told me why Adam was born the way he was. And because she is my sister I fall beside her without a second thought, ignoring the water that seeps around my limbs. With hardly any fight from Mary I pull her to my chest, allowing her to cry so sharply and keenly that the world feels as if it's splitting at its seams with every breath she takes.

"I pretended," Mary whispers finally, hiccupping the words through her tears. "Sometimes. Pretended that she was Nuria. That Father had— that he had mixed them up, somehow, and she was really mine."

For the first time in so many decades, I have the urge to let tears trace my cheeks as well. "Sister," I murmur, "that's not awful. You were only sad. It's alright."

Instead of being derisive, this time her laugh is humorless. "I sh-shouldn't have. Norah's n-n-not mine, she's never going to be mine…"

"But you raised her that way," I say quietly, stating, not asking. Mary nods into my chest, her new tears white hot.

"I did. I shouldn't have, but I did. I just need to… I need to l-listen to Father. P-put Nuria and Anne and Adam out of my m-mind…"

Is it any wonder that I hold no respect for Father, no sense of a son's admiration? "No," I contradict, "you should grieve. It's only human."

Mary's hand leaves a dent in the ground when she slams it there. I jump slightly at her reaction, but she doesn't move to emulate that violence; just keeps her head pressed to my chest, still right near my heart. "_I'm_ _not human!_" she hisses, letting one hand clench around my upper arm. "I have no need for human emotions."

I listen skeptically to how much effort it takes for her to control the wavering of her voice. "We all do," I remind her, pulling her even closer. "It's perfectly normal. You can mourn, sister dear." I hesitate for only a moment. "Father is nowhere near."

In the space between my words and Mary's slow renewed tears as she curls tighter into me, clutching tightly to my arm as though I would float away from her otherwise, a memory catches up to me: the months after Annabelle when Mary went through a period of devout Catholicism— the cross she wore around her neck, three birthstones lined down the front. The day I came to visit and saw the cross on her bedside table, cracked straight down the middle… the explanation she'd given, that she had dropped it.

The finger-shaped mark on her cross.

The smirk on Father's face.

The reason Mary would be frightened to remember her children near him— the reason Mary would be frightened to finally mourn.

* * *

_a/n:_ Um. Hi there. I'm very, very sorry about the lack of update last week… though it probably would have ended up pretty loopy, considering all the medication I'd been taking (wooh, getting teeth forcibly ripped from my gums!). On the plus side, this is the longest chapter in the entire story, although I didn't get to include two scenes I really wanted to. Ah, well. Next time!

Thank you guys so much for all of the reviews— you all deserve some Nahuel-in-a-bottle (since according to Leah, this is the equivalent of 'awesome' ;)).


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